


Be Careful What You Wish For...

by Crystal_Prisom



Series: Stories From the YouTuber Multiverse [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Actor Mark is the True Villain!, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Help, I Think I Forgot Something, I love how Chica has an official tag, I suck at tagging, Markiplier egos - Freeform, Nobody is "Evil" Evil, Tags Will DEFINITELY Be Added, Too Late To Back Out of This
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25958014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystal_Prisom/pseuds/Crystal_Prisom
Summary: On the Earth that we exist in, Mark Fischbach is known as "Markiplier," the YouTube gamer and philanthropist that we all know and love - a kind and genuine person.But there are other Earths. Here, WWII was lost to the Axis Powers. This one successfully established a worldwide state of peace. And so on and so forth... alternate realities can be created from the simplest of ideas that are brought up in our world - but no one ever realizes the impact of their actions.So when Mark finishes his "Who Killed Markiplier?" project and it takes off, the attention it receives creates a bridge-way between our world and the world he created, turning fiction into reality.TL;DR: Mark and the Egos in a sitcom and stuck loving together. Hilarity ensues.NOTE: None of the characters are mine, and I do not own any of them. THIS IS FICTIONAL. :)
Series: Stories From the YouTuber Multiverse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891051
Comments: 41
Kudos: 57





	1. Prologue

The world that you live in is known as Earth-Prime.

This is the first world created. It is also the original world. What happens on this Earth is considered to be the "Original Timeline of Events," or OTE.

But there are others.

Other worlds exist on different planes of reality that are... _different._ These other worlds take events that occur in our world, events from the OTE, and alter one event. And then, like the butterfly effect, the world continues to thrive from this event... or shrivel and die. 

There is a world where America was never discovered - exploration and Manifest Destiny never occurred. America belonged to the Native Americans, Europe belonged to the Europeans, China belonged to the Chinese, and everyone believed that their territories were the only legitimate place to live, never expanding and interacting with others.

In another world, the events of 9/11 never happened. People continued to trust their government, and the government in turn never took advantage of the trust that the people had. The animosity between countries diminished, and the world was at peace.

Alternate worlds don't have to have their origins rooted in the change of the OTE. Sometimes, on a rare occasion, these Earths can be synthesized from the ideas of people from Earth-Prime. As such, not all Earths are created equal. Some Earths have the unfortunate circumstance of only being halfway created - Earths based on a half-thought. 

The people who live in these half-created worlds only know this world, just like the awareness we have with OUR world. We know that the Earth is round (at least, most of us), and that this world is a whole world. However, beings from these half-created worlds believe that their worlds are complete - and how can we expect them to know any better? It's all they have ever known.

If there existed such a book or collection of all these alternate realities - complete and halfway created - and you choose to sit down and sift through this book, you would be sitting for _hours on hours,_ delving deep into the mysteries and backgrounds of these worlds until you lost yourself in this endeavor, sacrificing your sanity.

The human mind can only take so much before it snaps.

But if you wanted to focus in on a single reality and analyze its attributes and characters, now this would be more manageable. Here, there is a world where WWII was won by the Axis Powers. We could dive into this, but it is just _so_ dark and depressing (and besides, "The Man in the High Castle" pretty much summarizes it for us, anyway). What about this one to the right? A world overrun by fantastical creatures instead of humans looks a lot more promising... but I don't understand Unicornese, and you probably don't either.

But look here... a halfway-created world. Before you think of dismissing this, I implore you to look deeper. Here, the world is like an island, shared by a few important men all sharing the same face. But while they look the same, I assure you, they couldn't be more different.

A dark entity putting up a facade of a man with no emotion.

A maniac-that-is-not-a-maniac, swaying between the lines of sanity.

A technological breakthrough that is objective, and another that is subjective.

A foolish doctor who is surprisingly apt at his job.

A reclusive writer who has lost one sense but enhanced another.

A game-show host who pretends to and does only care about himself.

A good-hearted being who has a deep love for animals.

And at the heart of it all, a betrayed and heartbroken man turned malevolent with his dream for revenge.

These beings in this reality - all gifted with life from the Idea. The Idea from the Original, existing on Earth-Prime with the sole purpose of making the world a better and brighter place. The First: Mark Edward Fischbach.

And it is here that the story begins.


	2. Hello Everybody...

"Ack! Chica, no! Down, girl!"

The young Golden Retriever didn't listen as she shook herself wildly, loose hair and mud spraying everywhere. After giving a good shake, Chica lay in the epicenter of the explosion of mud, looking up through half-lidded eyes to her exasperated dad, who was wiping the mess from his glasses. 

"Aw, no!" Mark Fischbach groaned after replacing his glasses, taking in the scene. Mud coated the walls and the glass sliding door that the puppy had just entered the house from, the rainfall outside starting to pick up as the sky darkened. The normally impeccable-looking kitchen was now a disaster. Sighing loudly, Mark looked down with fond exasperation at Chica, who tilted her head up innocently. 

"You know I can't stay mad at you for long, you menace," Mark grumbled lightheartedly, lifting the dirty puppy into his arms with a grunt as he carried her to the bathroom for a bath, making sure to not stain anything else.

After receiving a couple more shakes in the tub, albeit from cleaner water, Mark had managed to dry Chica off and left her to her own devices, returning to the kitchen where he had left the mess unattended where he got down onto his knees and started to scrub the hardwood floors furiously. 

This was the last thing that Mark wanted to do with his time right now, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to rest knowing that there was this giant mess in his house. He and his friends had just finished their big project: "Who Killed Markiplier?" It had been a rollercoaster of emotions, from laughing their asses off when someone screwed up to outright defeat when something just wouldn't work. Ethan had joked that he was regretting moving to L.A., and Mark could understand easily. This project had taken a lot from everyone involved - he was _exhausted._ He had intended to sleep through the rest of the day and regain some of his normal energy, but instead, he was cleaning - everything needed to be neat and tidy. 

Looking up through the glass door, Mark frowned upon seeing the dark clouds in the sky as his hand on the brush slowed in its rhythm. His concern only worsened when he heard the distant rumbling of thunder, and he quickly got up to his feet, having finished cleaning most of the area. His mind was no longer on the mess, but instead on the last video of the project that he hadn't uploaded yet. He had intended to upload it a couple of hours later, but with the thunderstorm coming in, he wanted to post the video before the opportunity was taken away from him by an unfortunate power outage.

He walked briskly to his room where his laptop was located, flipping it open and logging in quickly. The video was there, set up by him hours ago in preparation, and he refreshed the page once before posting it onto his channel. After checking to see if there were any problems with the upload, Mark shut the laptop and made his way back to the kitchen, satisfied.

Resuming his task, Mark was able to quickly finish removing the specks of dried mud in his kitchen, returning it to its pristine state. As he moved to place the cleaning materials back in the closet a few feet away, a flash of light blinded his sight which was followed seconds later with a sudden clap of thunder. At once, the house went dark, and Mark found himself flat on his ass and not able to see a damn thing.

"... Shit," he muttered under his breath. He had fallen down in surprise but was able to shake the shock off quickly as he got back up and slowly moved forward, pushing the cleaning items in the bucket across the floor with his foot as he held his arms out in front of him to feel for a nearby wall.

His hands laid themselves flat against the surface of a wall, and he shifted to the side, feeling relieved when he felt a doorknob. Twisting it and wrenching the door open, Mark's arm reached out for the area where he had stored a flashlight for emergency purposes - like this one. He flicked on the switch, feeling the stress subside now that he was holding this light source. He bent down to pick up the bucket with the cleaning tools, putting it back in the closet before closing it.

As soon as he had closed the closet door, Mark felt an unpleasant chill run down his spine, and he stood still. His mind was mocking himself for being such a wuss - obviously, there was no one there - but Mark couldn't help but think that there was someone right behind him, hands lifted threateningly and hovering around his neck, about to latch on and _squeeze..._

Mark whirled around, breathing heavily as he swung the flashlight wildly around the area. The kitchen, the living room, and then down the hallway to his right...

Nothing - no one - was there.

Mentally slapping himself in the face for his childlike behavior and fear of the dark, Mark let out the breath he had been holding, shoulders slumping. He shrugged, mocking himself, lifting his right foot to take one step forward...

**"Shut up!"**

Mark froze immediately; his foot, which had not completed its path to the ground, was still raised in the air, unwavering as if the slightest movement he made would put him in danger. The voice... _it had come from inside his house._

Scratch being afraid - Mark was fucking terrified.

He scrambled as quietly as he could across the floor to his kitchen, quickly grabbing the knife rack and wrapping it in his left arm. He shoved the end of the flashlight into his mouth, holding a carving knife in his right hand, the blade wobbling tremendously.

If this had taken place with Mark upstairs, to begin with, then he would have gotten his tactical shovel immediately. But he was downstairs, and the voice had sounded like it was _upstairs._ In his goddamn room, too! Mark debated whether he should just make a run for it, but he knew that the sound of him opening the front door would alert the intruder, and he wasn't sure if he could start the car and get away in time. He didn't even know how many people there were; more than two, since the person was probably telling someone else to quiet themselves.

He could try calling the police, but then he would give himself away by speaking. Besides, would the police get here in time to save him? Absolutely _not._ Mark stood in the same spot, his head turning frantically from side-to-side as the light from the flashlight in his mouth followed his movements.

Then, the flashlight went out.

In his blind panic, Mark's mouth opened to curse an expletive habitually. But in doing so, the flashlight fell out of his mouth, falling to the floor with a loud clatter.

The silence was deafening.

Mark mouthed curses, the sounds not manifesting at all. He quietly tiptoed through the house - taking big steps - rotating his way behind the staircase as he hid behind the large couch in his living room, sitting on the ground with his back pressed up against the couch and hugging the knife rack close to his chest. 

Erratic footsteps ran down the stairs, and Mark felt the hysteria build up even more - how many people had broken in?! There were too many pairs of feet to count, and he held his breath as if the intruders could hear his breathing.

Mark shut his eyes tightly, teeth clenched tightly as he trembled wildly in fear of the unknown. Could he even take on these people? Dare he try? He still had no FUCKING idea how many people there were, and he didn't even want to sneak a look over the top of the couch. In his current state of fear, Mark doubted that he'd be able to take on ONE person, much less two or more.

Maybe he could quietly make his way to a window and open it, then run away. The power was still off and he was wearing dark clothing; maybe they wouldn't see him. He'd take off through the neighborhood, finding assistance from a neighbor and call the cops there -

A small rumbling hum, and then the lights in the ceiling of the house turned themselves on again.

It was just so goddamn ironic, Mark was tempted to start laughing hysterically. Instead, he allowed a small wheeze to leave his body. What were the fucking odds? Just when he needed the cover of the dark, the backup generator decided to finally make itself useful.

Mark's head looked away from the lights above his head, turning his head to the side and coming face-to-face with another face, his eyes meeting theirs.

"HOLY MOTHER OF FUCK!" Mark screamed in a high-pitched voice, not caring about his manly image at the moment as he abandoned all thoughts of discreetness. He scrambled on his butt, shifting across the ground backward in a crab-walk. Immediately, all attention was directed at himself, and Mark clambered back onto his feet, leaning with his back pressed against the nearest corner of the room, eyes darting frantically.

"Stay the FUCK away from me!" he hissed, directing the point of his knife in all directions in a clearly inexperienced manner. "I have a KNIFE!"

As his eyes scanned the room, Mark was hit with another moment of astonishment and shock. It was like he was looking into a mirror; he was seeing his face on these intruders - they looked so damn familiar. He took in their full appearances, frowning in confusion until his eyes widened in understanding and disbelief. "Holy shit," he breathed out. "How is this happening?"

The group in the kitchen dispersed so that everyone came into view, and Mark could hear his heart beating when a certain pair of eyes met his. "You," the one in the back of the group hissed menacingly, before lunging with his hands outstretched to wrap around Mark's neck.


	3. ...My Name is Markiplier

Mark screamed for the second time that night at an ever higher pitch than the last one as he dove away from the other man's sudden attack. 

Rolling on the ground of his living room, Mark rolled back onto his feet, trying to think of some way to escape and live another day. His eyes scanned the room desperately, eventually landing on the glass door leading into the backyard. If he could run out and climb the fence, he'd get help from a neighbor-

The sensation of cold metal pressed up against the back of his head made him freeze.

"Well, well, well," a threatening voice with a goofy accent warbled out. "If it isn't good ol' Markimoo."

Mark swallowed down the lump in his throat, looking up slowly to see the others slowly surround him like wolves closing in for the kill - some curious, some indifferent, others _really_ pissed off. How was this happening? None of these people should exist, and yet, here he was, being held hostage and at gunpoint by these beings - figments of his imagination only hours ago.

Mark held his breath in dread as one of them knelt to the ground, his ever-present snarl on his face. He was looking right at the ashen face of none other than Darkiplier himself. "Your fucking games are over, you murderer."

"Oh god," Mark gasped out, the past minutes of hiding and staying quiet taking their toll as he crumbled under the pressure and fear. "Okay, look. You think that I'm the Actor, right? You know him as 'Mark'. My name is also Mark, and I know that sounds really incriminating, but I'm not the Mark that killed you or made you what you are. I'm me - Markiplier. The YouTuber and person who plays video games. I've never killed anyone; you have to believe me!"

From behind him, Mark felt the barrel of the gun lessen in pressure against his skull. "Sounds legit," Warfstache rumbled, shrugging nonchalantly.

"You'll believe _anything,_ Will," another voice sounded. Mark's eyes flitted to the speaker; the charismatic and uninterested Bim Trimmer. He was examining his nails in a very posh and arrogant attitude. "If someone told you that the sky was pink today, you'd believe them. As for _him,_ I say we kill him anyway, whether he's innocent or not; I haven't done anything this _fun_ in a while."

"This is inhumane on so many levels!" a nervous voice piped up from the back of the group. The King of the Squirrels made eye-contact with Mark - sympathy and pity laced into his facial features. "If he's telling the truth, we shouldn't kill him."

"Unfortunately, we can't do that," Dr. Iplier added his voice into the conversation, sounding regretful nonetheless. "He would tell the authorities, and then we'd get into deep trouble. I don't want to say this, but I do believe that we will have no choice but to kill him."

Googleplier nodded once. "The doctor is right. Killing him is the most logical step - regardless of his innocence."

Mark waved his hands and shook his head wildly. "No, no! I won't tell anybody, I swear on my life and my dog's li-" Mark's eyes widened as he quickly shut himself up, but it was too late.

Dark stood up slowly, a glint of something triumphant in his eyes. "King, call the dog."

The innocent animal-whisperer blindly listened to the dark entity, and within moments, Chica was with the group, barking joyfully at the sight of so many versions of Mark around her. 

Mark looked up at the crowd, hope starting to fade from his body. "Please," he rasped out, "don't do this, please. I am begging you, stop this."

Chica, oblivious to what was happening, strolled up to Dark, who had his hand outstretched invitingly. "Well, hello there," he crooned softly, a smirk settling on his features. "What a cutie you are."

Mark didn't think - he shook off the hands that were holding him in place, lunging at Dark to put himself between him and his dog. "Get away from her!" he roared, coming back to life. He managed to land a punch on Dark's face before he was pulled off of him and pressed against the ground on his stomach, the gun pressed against his temple once more.

"Fuck!" Dark spat angrily, his blue and red aura flickering dangerously as he fixated back on Mark. Chica had run away from the group, cowering in the corner and whining helplessly. Mark looked up from the ground, seeing his little pup in danger. "Please, just don't hurt her," he pleaded. "If you want to kill me so badly, then just kill me. But leave her alone. Please." 

At this point, Mark couldn't stop the tears. They fell down his face, yet he still forced himself to look up at the faces of his captors, anguish etched on his own. "Please," he whispered once more.

Wilford maneuvered his way so that the gun was still aimed at Mark but he was now next to Dark. "I think he's telling the truth, Darky. Besides, you know how Mark hated dogs."

"Which is why," Dark growled dangerously as he straightened his suit and tie, "he'd act like this now to throw us off and make us believe in his bullshit."

Mark felt the defeat wash over him, and still lying on his stomach, he wrapped his hands around the back of his neck, sobbing loudly. "I'm so sorry, Chica. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Oh my God. My friends are gonna freak out; I'm sorry. I failed them. I'm so fucking sorry."

Wilford looked between Dark and Mark, his confidence that they had pinned the right guy starting to dwindle.

Dark himself hesitated, thrown off by this display of emotion from the YouTuber - despite it, he waved his hand toward Wilford to shoot him. 

The interviewer in the pink suspenders frowned at Mark, hand on the gun wobbling slightly. It was hard to not feel something for the sorry sight that was Mark. "Stop... Just stop crying!" he snapped. "Shut up and let me kill you!"

Of course, these words only made Mark cry harder, and he curled up into a ball, clutching his knees against his chest.

"Jesus, he's a fucking wimp," Trimmer groaned dramatically, not affected by this at all and plugged his ears with his fingers. "Get it over with, already!"

"Whoa, what the fuck is this?" Bing spoke up for the first time. He had been surfing the Internet while these events had been taking place, holding up his hand as a hologram of a video started to play from his palm.

All the egos' heads snapped to the video that Bing was playing for them, a familiar figure's face coming to view on the screen. 

_"Hello, everybody! My name is Markiplier, and welcome to the Livestream!"_

On the floor, Mark had stopped crying, looking up slowly as he watched himself introduce himself in a Livestream he had done last month to raise money for charity.

_"I'm going to be playing some interactive Jackbox games so that you can play with me, but I just want to talk about the purpose of today's Livestream. We're raising money for the St. Jude Children's Research Hospital in their fight to battle cancer. As you guys may know, I have a rough history with cancer: it was how my dad died. This set me off through a dark time in my life, and this is a topic that I feel very passionate about. All donations will go to St. Jude. Every dollar helps, so please help out by donating. There's a link in the description below..."_

The video faded out as Bing closed his hand into a fist, terminating the hologram. Mark, who had gotten on his knees as the video progressed, felt the tears come back with a vengeance, but they weren't ones of fear; sure, he was going to die, but at least he had made an impact on the world before dying. His impact. A small bitter smile appeared on his face as the others turned back to him.

He hiccupped once before speaking softly. "You can kill me, now. It's fine. I made my impact on the world, and I know my dad would be proud of me. That's all that I wanted." He exhaled shakily, bowing his head down as he waited for the killing blow. 

Minutes passed.

"He's telling the truth," a quiet voice sounded from the back. The Host shifted in his seat on the couch, leaning forward. "From what I have heard, this is an alternate world that we have arrived in - and this is Mark Edward Fischbach, a celebrity who raises money for charity and is an idol among this world."

Mark winced at the choice of words. "Well, not an idol, exactly-"

"Then this throws a new factor into our equation," Google spoke up again, fixing a blank gaze at Mark as if sizing him up. "The Host is right; we are no longer in our world anymore. I have access to a new version of the Internet with different events of the world taking place here. And, since this world's version of Mark is as famous as he is, we can no longer terminate him without drawing additional attention to ourselves. My protocol has changed; we can not kill him."

Bim groaned in disappointment. "Are you fucking kidding me? All that build-up for nothing?"

King stared incredulously at the game-show host. "Please tell me that you're joking about wanting to kill him."

Wilford shrugged. "I don't care. If we kill him, he dies. If we can't, then he lives. It's simple! Maybe we should draw straws!" He exclaimed, his maniacal habits starting to surface once more.

Dark had been silent this entire time, and Mark could see the cogs spinning in his head as he pondered what to do. Mark knew that Dark was the leader here, and whatever he said was law.

"We won't kill him, but that doesn't mean that we're cutting him loose," Dark declared, moving briskly to Mark. He roughly lifted the gamer by his shirt up to his feet unsteadily, "We can't risk him talking to anyone."

Mark grinned stupidly at the thought, arms tentatively raised in the air to prevent any violence. "As if I could. People would think that I was crazy if I mentioned any of your names, you know. You're kind of fictional in my world."

"What does that mean?" Dark asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as his grip on Mark's shirt lessened slightly. He hated being left in the unknown; Mark knew that.

"It's just that some of the videos I make are of skits - like short movies or plays in theatre - and you guys are characters in them. I can show you if you want," Mark offered the group collectively. "I was understandably taken aback when I saw you; I thought I was dreaming for a second."

The Host stood up from his seat. While Dark was the leader, Mark could tell that the others, Dark included, respected him. "That is also true. I read a book before I lost my sight that outlined the existence of alternate realities. There is a central Earth that was created first, followed by other worlds that were created based on the events or ideas that come from this 'Earth-Prime', as it was dubbed. Since we were most likely created from the videos that Mark made for his fans, it is safe to assume that we have been brought to Earth-Prime."

Bing blinked. "Um, to be honest, you lost me after you mentioned reading a book." 

The Host sighed, sitting back down and making the wise decision of giving up. "I know how to pick and choose my battles."

Mark shook his head, trying to wrap his head around the concept. Dark had released him, moving to a corner with his back turned to the others. "Okay, if you guys are from another reality, how did you get here? And more importantly, how are you going to get back?!" Mark asked.

Unfortunately, no one was able to answer the pressing and VERY important questions.

Mark sighed after realizing he was not getting any answers. "Great. Just as I finish working on a huge project, I'm getting fucked with a problem the size of Mount Everest. (”Kinky,” Bing muttered) No, you know what? This is fine." He pinched the bridge of his nose and huffed out in exasperation, thinking of what he had to fix the situation as the others awkwardly shifted around the person they had tried to kill seconds before. 

"Okay," Mark said objectively, clapping his hands together. "I have a spare guest room upstairs near mine. I also have an inflatable mattress somewhere in storage, maybe a second one if I didn't throw that one away. The couch has a pull-out bed for two, and there's another spare guest room in the basement."

"I don't sleep," Google and Bing spoke simultaneously, one with a monotonous voice and the other with a surfer dude's accent.

Mark blinked. "Oh. That makes sense. You just go into rest mode, right?"

King's face lit up. "Well, if it makes things easier, I can morph into a small squirrel and sleep that way; you could just take a small shoebox and put insulation in and I'll be fine."

"That doesn't sound comfortable at all!" Mark exclaimed in concern, turning away from the androids to face the cheerful character. "Were you forced to do that? You know what? No, you're _not_ going to sleep like that. Thinking logically here, I think that Wilford and Dark should each take a spare room; Wilford upstairs and Dark downstairs. Bim and Host can each take a mattress, and Dr. Iplier and King can share the couch bed. Google and Bing can do... whatever it is you guys do."

Mark had a specific reason for putting each person in their rooms; putting Dark in the basement put as much distance between his bedroom and Dark as possible. Bim and Wilford were maniacal enough to make Mark put them in individual places. He paired up the doctor and King because they seemed to be the most humane in the group of the newcomers, which left the second air mattress for the Host.

Luckily, no one seemed to protest the sleeping arrangements that Mark had set forward, and for the first time, he felt a little relieved. "Alright, great. There are some game rooms downstairs with doors and locks, so I'll put the air mattresses down there and take out the game tables from the rooms and put them in the main area of the basement. Google and Bing, you two can activate your sleeping protocols in my recording studio; it's important that nothing breaks in there, okay? I can move some small sofas there so you can sit comfortably. I'm going to get the mattresses - don't break anything, please," he begged, desperate to have this _one_ assurance.

No one answered.

Mark sighed, realizing that the silence was the only answer he was going to get as he turned to leave. He went to the door where Chica was still cowed against, pressing her body against the door to get out.

"Hey, Chica-Bica!" Mark said in a high-pitched voice, kneeling to her level to try and rekindle a sense of familiarity in this chaotic situation. Her ears pinned themselves against the back of her head, and as soon as Mark blinked, she had bolted away and left him there.

He stood up slowly, frowning in the direction she had taken off in with an indescribable sense of loneliness climbing up his throat. "She'll never trust me again," he thought to himself dejectedly before pushing the door open and making his way to the storage.

* * *

Darkiplier was a great many things, but despite all his power and terrifying image, deep down, he was still human.

He used to be just like Mark - empathetic and ambitious - before his life had been taken away by his world's Mark and replaced with the monstrosity he was now. 

So when Dark had hesitated before giving the order to kill Mark, that had been Damien resurfacing. When he saw the video of Mark's Livestream, Damien had also made his appearance. And when he just saw Mark staring helplessly at his dog for a good minute before moving again, Dark knew that it was Damien making him feel these things.

_Sympathy._

Dark wanted to scoff and feel disgusted with himself for even feeling anything in the first place, but ever since he had arrived in this new world, the walls that he had built to block out his emotions had been torn down, and he was left feeling the emotions he had blocked out for years - emotions other than rage or hatred. The thing that made him pause was the fact that he didn't seem to care about it anymore.

He wasn't sure if he should be worried about that yet.

”I don't trust him,” he started bluntly to the others, as if trying to convince them ~~as well as himself~~.

The Host tilted his head to one side. ”I trust him,” he rebutted, looking directly at Dark. _I see right through your bullshit,_ Dark knew that what that look meant. 

The King had finally managed to calm himself, returning to his normal behavior with was still quite jittery, having the same jumpiness a squirrel usually had. ”Well, he came across as quite a gentleman and offered us a place to stay until we get this issue fixed,” he said. ”I mean, I don't like humans, but I like this guy!”

Bim rolled his eyes, still upset that there hadn't been any killing. ”He only let us stay because he doesn't want us out there ruining his reputation; that's the only thing that matters to anyone these days.”

Wilford waved them all off. ”Oh, shut up!” he drawled. ”I've just had about enough of you shitheads; if Host trusts this guy, that's good enough for me.”

Google, who had been silent for a little longer than usual, spoke up, and Dark was immediately taken aback by the fact that the android was speaking more... like a human. There was a distinctive lilt to his voice as he addressed their host, ”I have read through Mark Fischbach’s story. So many people say that he makes them smile and laugh with his videos. It's astonishing to see how many people adore him.”

Dark huffed, spinning on his heel to turn away from the others. He didn't need Google to tell him that; he had gathered as much from watching the video and hearing the Host talk about Mark in such a positive light. 

What worried him was the fact that being around Mark was starting to make him... _soft._ And it wasn't just him; Google was starting to feel something, too. Even now, the usually emotionless android was starting out the glass door with a contemplative look on his face that was a more common expression seen on the faces of humans.

And whereas Dark and Google were feeling affected by Mark’s presence, they weren't the only ones. Dark would have to be blind, deaf, and stupid to ignore the signs: Wilford was being more level-headed and even showed sympathy toward Mark, Bim hadn't moved to kill Mark himself when Wilford hesitated, King was voicing his own opinions and not letting the others step over him, Dr. Iplier was also showing sympathy, and even the Host was affected as well. The normally-reclusive man who spent months locked in his room back at the manor they all lived in together was speaking up and not narrating every little thing. 

Dark felt extremely conflicted by this revelation. It seemed that Mark was bringing out the better sides in each of them, but was that really what Dark wanted or needed? The part of him that had been locked away for so long - Damien - was telling him to trust Mark, while the darker half of him told him to kill Mark at the earliest convenience. 

_Who to trust: the man I used to be, or the monster I am now?_

Dark’s eyes became unfocused as his thoughts went back to simpler times when he was in control of himself and there was no death or destruction to worry about. And slowly, the dark voice in his head urging him to kill started to ebb away.

Dark - no, he was _Damien_ \- was not going to let this opportunity slip through his fingers again. He had made his own choice, something that had not been offered to him in a long time: he was going to be the person he was and wanted to be.

As soon as he finished that thought, the door banged open revealing a soaked Mark lugging two boxes into the house. It had been raining outside, and the storage shed was inconveniently located at the side of the house, forcing him to go outside.

King was the first to make his way to help Mark shut the door, the wind picking up and howling viciously. Seeing their struggle, the doctor moved forward to offer his aid as well. The doctor he knew would never move to help anyone other than himself; another thing that Damian noticed. 

With the door finally forced shut, Mark panted as he bent over, resting his hands over his knees. ”Hah... Thanks, guys.”

Mark pushed the boxes across the floor and toward the door leading down into the basement. ”I’m gonna get these bad boys set up - in the meantime, again, _please_ don't touch or break anything.”

His eyes were open wide with worry and concern, and Damien could remember a time when he made that same face. ”Whatever,” he said, waving Mark off. He still caught the way that the YouTuber’s posture became less stiff as Mark made his way down the stairs... holding BOTH boxes at the same time?

Damien felt another emotion spike through his body: concern. And for good reason, as seconds later, a rumbling sound of someone falling down the stairs sounded followed by a loud thud at the bottom.

All the egos - from the most heartless to the most caring - immediately ran to the open door of the basement looking down at Mark’s figure at the bottom of the stairs. Damien felt a lurch in his stomach upon seeing the body, once again choosing to not suppress his feelings. He felt a sudden sense of effectiveness for the mortal man that was supposedly his Creator, and judging by the looks on the others’ faces, he could tell they felt the same way for this helpless, idiotic, childish man.

Mark, who had been lying on the ground still for a worrying time, tilted his head to look up at the rest of them, a chagrined yet goofy grin on his face. ”Don’t worry, I'm fine!” he called up to them, ”Trust me, it'll take a lot more than a fall down the stairs to kill me off; you should see my hospital records!”

”Keeping him alive may prove to be a harder task than previously thought,” the Host spoke for the rest of them.


	4. (not so) Friendly Visits

*BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.*

Mark groaned a half-coherent complaint, stretching out his hand blindly to shut off his alarm. He settled back in bed, sighing constantly at the achieved serenity.

”BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.”

”Noooo,” Mark whined aloud, a little surprised that he hadn't turned off the alarm. It was something so integral in his routine that he _always_ managed to shut it off the first time. Had he just accidentally hit the snooze button? Not giving this oddity any more thought, his hand reached out to hit the button on his clock again, but the alarm tone continued.

Reluctantly, Mark sat up in his bed, stretching contently as he felt something pop satisfyingly. Reaching out blindly to retrieve his glasses, he put them on and turned to look at his alarm clock to see what was preventing him from shutting it off all the way...

And was met with the _very_ unpleasant wake-up call that was seeing Google standing over the side of his bed.

”AAAAHHHHH!!!” Mark screamed until his voice was raw and then screamed some more. Thankfully, he was wearing pajamas, but the image of Google standing over his bed and watching him sleep was extremely creepy.

And to make matters worse, after Mark had stopped screaming and calmed himself, he realized that the second onslaught of beeps had been coming from the _android._

This was NOT a good way to start his day.

"What the hell, man?" Mark shouted at Google, who had reacted to the screams coming from the man and had fallen backward in shock. After composing himself again, the android tilted his head in confusion. "It was my understanding that when humans do not wake up immediately after their alarm rings, it is customary to have the alarm continue until they fully awake."

"But... what... ugh," Mark sighed in frustration, throwing his hands up in the air. "That's not what is wrong here, Google! How long were you in here for?"

"Approximately one hour, seventeen minutes, and forty-eight seconds," he responded.

Mark gaped at the robot, swinging his legs over the side of the bed as he turned to fully face him. "Over an hour? Google, you can't just keep watching over someone sleep; it's fucking creepy!"

Google paused for a second, thinking over what Mark had said. "I see. I apologize for startling you from your slumber. I am still learning how to act human; your routines are very... odd."

Sympathy immediately overtook Mark's senses, and he winced slightly after realizing how harshly he had reacted. "Hey, it's alright, Google. I get it; you've never really been taught how to act humanely, and you're confused. I'll help you learn, but do me a favor? If I react the way I did just now, you can tell me off for it. I shouldn't get away with being a jerk, okay?"

"I understand," Google responded, sincerity leaking through his voice as he turned away, leaving the room and closing the door behind him firmly. Mark sighed, and seeing that there was no point in trying to go back to sleep, he stood up and headed to the bathroom, opening the door and closing it shut behind him. He was grabbing the mouthwash when he heard the rustling of the shower curtain. Eyes narrowing in suspicion, he slowly moved to the tub, seizing the end of the curtain with one fist, and drew it back with a flourish. 

"Ey! What is up my dude?"

"WHAT THE FUCK?!!!"

* * *

Damien strolled into the kitchen where he saw the Host sitting at the countertop on a barstool. To be honest, Damien wasn't very surprised; the Host was known to be a very early riser, and the dark figure immediately moved to join the blind man.

"Good morning, Damien," he greeted amiably. "It is 'Damien' now, isn't it?"

"Yes," Damien replied, voice clipped and short, ending the train of thought as quickly as it had started. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing in suspicion. A noise had awoken him this morning, and he thought it had distinctly sounded like... "Did you happen to hear a scream this morning?"

"I was awoken by a sudden noise, but I couldn't hear it clearly from the basement," the Host admitted before smiling slightly when a sudden thought struck him, a crooked grin on his face. "It's amazing, isn't it?"

Damien didn't turn to face him. "What is?"

"The effect that one man has over a group of misfits such as ourselves," the Host explained, clasping his hands together and placing them in his lap. "You've started to reconnect with Damien, who has gotten considerably stronger. I do not doubt that he'll be able to overcome the darkness and control it." He paused, tilting his head. "To tell you the truth, I've been most surprised with the effect on Wilford and Bim."

Damien snorted. "You don't have to tell me; I saw it for myself last night." Indeed, a significant change had taken over the two men. After seeing Wilford's display of pure raw emotion and his hesitation to kill, Damien didn't think that anything else could happen that would take him by surprise, but he had been proven wrong even with this thought after watching Bim last night. The habitually egotistical and apathetic man had voiced his concern to Damien about placing Wilford's room so close to Mark's. When Damien questioned the man as to why he cared, Bim had deflected, but he had still asked, hadn't he?

"I was talking with Google for a short while," the Host continued, "and I learned a lot more about this world's Mark. He's had such a positive impact on this world and its people. He's better than all of us."

"Not King," Damien spoke firmly.

"Yes, not King," Host repeated, huffing a short laugh as they both turned 180 degrees in their chairs to look behind them in the living room. There, King and the doctor were sleeping on each side of the pull-out-bed, oblivious to the presence of Damien and Host. "But he was created to be fundamentally good, you know? Mark is human - to see a human with this kind of kindness and sincerity is a rarity."

Damien knew; he had been that person, once upon a time. But while he could have hated or envied Mark for being the person that reminded Damien of who he used to be, the dark entity had nothing but respect for the influencer. 

The Host sighed contently as the sun slowly started to peek in through the cracks in the curtains and blinds. "I had this voice in my head that told me everything that was happening. That's why I had to narrate - so that I wouldn't have to think as much. It was horrible; this force that was gnawing at my brain. It's just a small whisper now." He paused, a frown settling in on his features. "Do you think that we'll be able to return to our world?"

Damien shrugged slightly. "I don't know anything about this alternate reality theory. You're the one with the most knowledge about this; why are you asking me?"

"Do you..." the Host stopped halfway, shaking his head. "No, nevermind."

"What?" Damien asked, frowning as he turned to look at the other man. "What were you going to say?"

The Host sighed. "It's just that we've been getting better only because we are around the Original. What happens if we leave? Do we go back to being what we were? Homicidal maniacs and resentful beings?"

Damien felt an unpleasant chill run down his spine, the reality of the situation at the forefront of his mind. "If we can't leave, would you be content with staying?" he asked slowly.

The Host turned in his seat so that he was facing Damien, his mouth set in a firm and grim line. "I think you and I both know that we'd rather stay than leave."

"WHAT THE FUCK?!!!"

Damien's and the Host's heads snapped up immediately to the ceiling where the shout had come from - Mark's room. Damien and Host shared one look before running up the stairs to investigate, no doubt waking the others with the amount of noise they were all making.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Damien and the Host paused as they looked down the hallway. There were only three doors in the corridor; Wilford's bedroom was the closest door on the left, the recording room with the robots was the mirroring door on the right side. Mark's room was the door at the end of the hallway, and it was currently open.

"Would you bastards SHUT IT?!"

Wilford threw his bedroom door open with a bang, standing in the middle of the hallway with a white shirt and boxer briefs with pink hearts. He stared at Damien and the Host, who in turn stared back, only making the situation more awkward by the second.

The creaking of another door provided an escape from the weirdness of the scene. Google emerged from the recording room, thankfully fully dressed in his classic blue shirt with the glowing emblem and jeans. He looked between the other three, a frown settling on his face. The display of emotion took Damien aback, but he composed himself.

"Good morning," Google greeted, nodding shortly at them. "I had a situation with Mark this morning."

"What happened? Did he hurt you?" Damien asked in a demanding tone, pondering the idea that Mark had been lying to them about his supposedly genuine image.

"No," Google said quickly, making the doubt disappear from Damien's mind. "I was in his room and watching him sleep for an hour. He woke up and reacted, I left about ten minutes and twenty-nine seconds ago."

Wilford jerked back. "You were watching him sleep? Tell me, does he snore?"

"So who...?" Damien started to ask the question on everyone else's mind.

"Hey, - OW - chill!"

"GET OUT OF MY ROOM!!!"

The four egos in the hallway turned toward Mark's open bedroom door where the man himself stood, dragging none other than Bing by the earlobe to the exit. "Don't you guys have any sense of fucking privacy?" Mark shouted, forcing Bing out of the bedroom. He looked up to see the others, sighing as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Wow, that's embarrassing," Mark huffed. "Sorry about the noise; I woke up and saw Google standing over me, and then found _Bing_ in my _fucking shower_ like a fucking _creep."_

Bing sputtered as he tried to defend himself. "Okay... look. I'm sorry, dude. It's just that Google and I went in this morning to check in on you, and I thought it'd be funny to scare you in the bathroom. But I chickened out at the last second and I was hoping you'd leave."

Mark shut his eyes tightly, shaking his head furiously. "Wha - nothing you said made any sense, but whatever. Just... stay out of my room, okay?" He turned around, intending to go back in and shut the door behind him when he paused, turning back to face the others. "Is there anyone else in my bedroom that I should be aware of?"

The egos all shook their heads, some uncertainly and others confidently.

Mark huffed before he went back in, shutting the door behind him with a bang that shook the pictures hung on the walls.

"Well, that looked fun," a voice said behind the group.

Bim was standing at the end of the hallway with King behind him, both of them watching the event take place. "What the hell were you two thinking, anyway?" Bim asked, addressing the androids.

King moved forward before anyone could speak to defend them, "It doesn't matter. They won't do it again, right?" After seeing the two robots nod in response, Bim seemed to relent.

At this moment, Mark's door opened again, and he stepped out. He looked between the seven of the eight egos in the hallway before slowly walking past them to get downstairs, squeezing himself through the crowd. "Excuse me... Sorry..."

After the YouTuber had disappeared down the stairs, Damien turned to address the rest of them. "I don't care if you don't like it, but you're all going to be on your best behavior - understand? We are _lucky_ that he's taken us in; he could make us leave at any time. Be fucking grateful, and act respectfully." The space around him started to dim considerably, creating a pocket of air where the light could not penetrate as his figure started to glow blue and red.

After seeing the others' nods, Damien withdrew his display of power, moving forward to join Mark downstairs, knowing that the others would follow eventually.

* * *

Mark grumbled under his breath as he rummaged around in his fridge for something he could make easily and in a large abundance.

There was NO way in hell he going to let any of those walking disasters in his goddamned kitchen...

Opening a package of bacon, Mark started to warm up the pan and drop the bacon in, feeling better after hearing the satisfying sizzling sound it made. He went back to the fridge and retrieved a full carton of eggs, shutting the door with his shoulder as he turned around to go back to his cooking station.

Chica had smelled the bacon and had run toward the kitchen, her fear from the other day completely evaporated. Mark grinned happily after seeing her, kneeling as she ran into his open arms. "Who's a good gurl? Who's a good gurl?! You're a good gurl, Chica-Bica; yes, you are!"

"She's adorable."

Mark whipped around quickly, seeing Dr. Iplier standing a few feet behind him. "Dogs bring a great many number of health benefits for their owners; they're known to be happier by keeping a pet." 

"Um, yeah," Mark said stupidly, not knowing what else to say. "Do you... wanna pet her?"

The doctor shook his head. "I'm going to freshen myself up. Also, I think your bacon is burning," he added, looking at the stovetop.

Mark's eyes widened at the mention of the food. "Fuck." He stood up quickly (startling Chica, who went away and lay down next to King in the living room), lifting the pan and seeing the burnt crisps of what used to be bacon. "Aw, shit," Mark sighed, scraping the burnt food into the trash bin before placing more uncooked bacon on.

"Here, let me."

Mark shrieked, jumping a foot in the air as he turned around to come face-to-face with the unimpressed face of Dark. He quirked an eyebrow at Mark's reaction, pushing him gently to the side as he took over the bacon.

"... Thanks," Mark said, moving to the eggs as he started to crack them in a large mixing bowl. 

Dark didn't say anything, and the two worked together in silence (surprisingly well, Mark noted). It wasn't until Mark was finished whisking the eggs together when Dark spoke up.

"I wanted to apologize for the actions of myself and the others yesterday," he said. "I mistook you for another person, and I reacted harshly."

Mark immediately shook his head. "It's alright. I mean, it's kind of my fault."

At Dark's questioning gaze, Mark explained. "I mean, the Host explained that you guys came into existence because of me, right? But I gave you the tragic backstories and made you the way that you are; I feel responsible for your unhappiness. I went overboard," he sighed, holding his head in his hands. "I had no fucking idea that I could even do this."

"No one knew," Dark said shortly, plating the bacon to the side. "It would be foolish of me to blame you for doing something you had no idea you were doing."

Mark sighed. "Well, I made your life hell, and you terrorized me last night, so let's call it even?"

Dark nodded once in Mark's direction. "Sure." There was a period of silence less suffocating than the last one until it was promptly ruined.

"What are you talking about?" someone whispered into Mark's ear.

"SHIT!" Mark shouted, waving his fists wildly at the sudden appearance of Wilford. The pink-mustached man raised his arms in a placating manner. "Why so jumpy, Markimoo?" he teased.

Mark growled, surprising Damien with how similar it was to his own. "Oh, no reason. Except for the fact that I've woken up to have two androids in my bedroom and people continuing to sneak up behind me." He snatched the bowl of eggs, still making an effort to not spill anything when the doorbell rang.

Immediately, Mark's face turned pale, and he shakily set the bowl down. "Oh, fuck me. I forgot that Tyler was coming over."

Damien and Wilford shared a look before the interviewer made his way to quietly round up the others. Damien turned to Mark, "We're going to stay downstairs in the basement; you talk to him and get him out of here."

Mark took a deep breath to calm his nerves. "Yeah. Okay, I can do this."

The YouTuber moved toward the front door, hand freezing on the doorknob for a second before throwing the door open and plastering a smile on his face. "Hey, Tyler! Hi, Ethan! What's going on?"

In the entrance, the tall stoic man and the short blue-haired child smiled in greeting. "Nothing much," Ethan answered for both of them. "What are you up to?"

"Oh, you know," Mark said, his mind whirling furiously, "I was cooking breakfast when I saw Chica whining and lying on the ground. I haven't seen anything like this, and I was planning on bringing her to the vet. Sorry, but I don't think we can hang out today."

"Aww," Ethan groaned in disappointment, pouting unhappily. "That sucks. Well, we can always do this some other time. Do you want us to drive Chica to the vet?"

Mark panicked. "Uh... no! She vomited, and I don't think you guys want that in your car, you know?" The lie slipped out easily.

Ethan had a look of disgust on his face. "Oh, ew. Okay, well, take care then, Mark! We'll catch up some other time!"

Mark nodded several times. "Yep! Talk later!"

From behind, Mark heard a loud thud, and he quickly looked at the window nearby. Looking in the reflection, Mark saw that the egos were going down the stairs and into the basement, and King had been pushed to the ground by an irate Bim. 

"What was that?" Tyler asked, trying to look inside.

"NOTHING!" Mark swung the door a little more shut, blocking their line of sight. "Chica probably knocked over a vase or a lamp. I've really got to go, guys."

Ethan nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, we'll leave you to it. I hope Chica gets better soon!" He walked away and toward Tyler's parked car, leaving Mark with his childhood friend.

Tyler's eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you _sure_ that everything is alright, Mark?"

Mark nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine! I'll see you later, Tyler!"

The curly-haired man slowly walked away, his eyes scrutinizing Mark. "Alright. Take care of yourself, man."

"You too!" Mark called out after Tyler's retreating figure before he shut the door, turning around to face the others.

"What the hell?" Mark hissed at them. "What happened to 'quiet and discrete'?"

King's lower lip quivered. "I'm sorry. I fell to the ground."

"Naw, dude," Bing refuted. "Bim pushed Squirrelboy to the ground; I saw it!"

Bim sneered at the android. "Can you even see through those stupid sunglasses?"

"Shut up, just SHUT UP!" Mark shouted, waving his hands in the air wildly. "Don't you understand what almost happened? My friends almost saw you! Can't you all just stop bickering for two seconds and acknowledge the seriousness of that?"

"What would be so bad about telling anyone else?" Wilford asked in a confused manner. 

"We don't fully understand the situation," the Host gently explained. "We've only been exposed to Mark, our Creator. We haven't been around anybody else to see what would happen. We can't take the risk."

Wilford shrugged. "Whatever you say, Daredevil." 

King blanched. "That's _so_ rude."

Mark sighed, letting his heart rate subside now that Tyler and Ethan had left. "Let's just go eat breakfast and then try and see how to get you guys back, alright?"

* * *

"Pass the ketchup, please."

"Who puts ketchup on eggs?"

"I do, idiot. It's like an omelet; have you ever heard of them?"

"Shut up, you two."

The dining table was chaotic; Mark sat at one end of the table and faced Dark, who sat at the other end. On either side of Dark was Wilford on his right and the Host on his left, and then next to them was Bim with Wilford and Google with the Host. Immediately next to Google's other side was Bing, who had King on his other side next to Mark. There was an empty chair between Bim and Dr. Iplier, who was on Mark's immediate left.

It was chaotic.

Mark winced slightly as he watched the scene. Dark and Wilford seemed to be arguing about something trivial, yet the madman held a steak knife while the shadows condensed around Dark's shoulders. Bim was leering at and taunting Google, who was fixing a deadly glare in the game-show host's direction. Bing was taking great delight in using his spoon as a catapult and launching bits of egg that landed in Dr. Iplier's hair, whilst King was staring wide-eyed at everything that was happening while trying (but not effectively) to get them to stop. Meanwhile, the Host was sitting silently, sipping quietly from his coffee cup.

Mark wanted to cry. Before any of this had happened, his life was everything he had wanted it to be: controlled and organized. Having the egos here was giving him so much additional stress, he was starting to go insane! Couldn't they just get along for just _one_ hour? It was extremely frustrating to watch them argue and bicker like children, leaving him to be the responsible one to keep them under control... he was saying all of this out loud, wasn't he?

By now, the ruckus had died out and the egos were all staring at him. Mark slowly realized that he had somehow gotten up on his chair so he was standing on it and had been ranting his thoughts with no care in the world. Blushing slightly from embarrassment, Mark slowly sat back down, hoping that the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

The Host cleared his throat. "Well, now that I have everyone's attention, I would like to address the problem we are in right now. Seeing how Mark is the First and we have been pulled to him, there must be some link to him that could help solve or at least explain some things. If we go over how you created us, perhaps we could gain a better understanding."

Mark leaned back in his chair. "It wouldn't hurt. After this, I'll get my computer and hook it up to the TV. Make some popcorn; this could take a while.


	5. Of Sketches and Stalking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Who Killed Markiplier?", "Google IRL", & "Google Gets an Upgrade"
> 
> SPOILERS AHEAD for the mentioned videos. Honestly, if you haven't watched them, what are you doing with your life? :)

Mark walked into the living room where the other egos were waiting for him, laptop tucked under his arm. 

They had brought additional chairs from the dining table to provide more seats, sitting comfortably. Dark was sitting in the single-seat recliner in one of the back corners of the small space while the large couch was filled taken up by Wilford and Dr. Iplier on either end with Bim squished between them. The Host was sitting on the second single-seat recliner in the other corner in the back, while Google and Bing had each brought in a chair from the dining room. Meanwhile, King was contently sitting on the floor cross-legged, eagerly looking up at the screen excitedly with Chica's head in his lap.

Mark hooked up his laptop to the big screen, and his channel's main page that was on his laptop was now up on the TV. He stood up, explaining it to the others. 

"This is my channel where I upload videos on YouTube," he started, gesturing to the TV. "You guys were created in these videos that I made to entertain my fans. I mean," he stopped slightly, laughing awkwardly, "they're not meant to be taken seriously. They're forms of comedy, you know? But the most recent project I made, called 'Who Killed Markiplier', is pretty much the only one to be taken seriously, so I guess we should start there."

He bent down to pull up the video on his computer and pressed play, moving back to sit behind the laptop.

A piano started to play as the black-and-white video played, showing the mansion that the project had taken place in. The video progressed to introduce the first-person perspective followed quickly with the sight of the Colonel. "Oh! That's me!" Wilford exclaimed, pointing at himself in the video before the camera moved to enter the house, showing Tyler as he spoke with his fake accent.

_Ah, bonjour!_

Mark laughed stupidly at the sight of his friend as the others watched with captivated interest. From here, they were introduced to the Detective, the Mayor, and the Cook. Damien felt a twinge in his gut as he watched Mark act out his "character." It was scary how accurate this was; everything from their positions to their lines had taken place in his world.

_Welcome, welcome, one and all!_

Damien and Wilford stiffened when they heard this, everyone watching as the Actor walked down the stairs, his familiar red robe pooling at Mark's feet in the video. The video continued after the Actor's eloquent speech, going into the compilation of drunkenness. Wilford laughed and pointed at Damien when the image of his character doing the keg stand passed, receiving a deadly glare in turn.

Then, Mark's body was found dead in the video, and the Detective took charge. Google spoke up, a question on his mind. "Did you act out all these roles?"

Mark hummed. "Yeah. That's why you don't see the characters I play together in the shot."

They watched Damien's confronting interaction with the Colonel and then the Colonel's description of what he thought happened. Bing and King laughed at the re-enaction of the scene, Mark joining in on their giggling. 

They watched through the video, seeing the interaction in the security feed of the Detective and the Actor, then the talk with Damien, and ending with the disappearance of Mark's body. Mark cleared his throat, hovering his mouse over the next video. "The house is supernatural. It's kind of possessed by an evil entity, you know? What happened was that Mark, Damien, and William were childhood friends. Mark fell in love with a girl named Celine, who you'll see later. The Colonel and her ran off together, and in the betrayal and rage, Mark hatched a plan. He knows that he can't die, because the house keeps bringing him back. He's experimented before where he's killed himself before, which I think the Detective explains in the next video."

"Mark's body is extremely damaged because of these experiments. But he knows he can't die. So, he plans to make the Colonel shoot him and then get the Detective to pin the blame on the Colonel while Mark comes back. Only, something goes wrong and he can't come back. So, this evil entity possessing the house convinces Mark to alter his plan." Mark clicked on the next video, and the others continued to watch through the next two videos, on edge with the tense scenes and the goofballs laughing at the funny scenes.

Reaching the final video, Mark and the egos watched intently as the Colonel confronted the Detective before shooting him and then the person whose perspective they were watching this whole story from.

Bim groaned. "Jesus, Wil. You just had to do it, didn't you?"

"Oh, shut up," Wilford groused. "You try dealing with a situation as tense as that was."

After watching Damien and Celine talk the person into helping, they all held their breath as they watched the red and blue figures disappear and see the main character wake up. The Colonel starts to lose his sanity, stumbling away while the camera shifts to the side. A female hand morphs into a male hand as the fingers wrap around the Mayor's staff, and the camera shifts up to show Dark in the mirror, cracking his neck to the side as the mirror cracks before he walks off with the intent to kill Mark.

Mark coughed. "I was working on this yesterday, but had this idea for a while, you know? How does this match up with what happened?"

Damien leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs. "It's very accurate. People watch this for entertainment?"

"Yeah," Mark replied, scratching the back of his neck. "I mean, it's entertaining when they think its fake, but now that I know this is real, it kind of feels insensitive to have this on here, you know?"

Wilford shrugged. "I don't care. It's not like they know this is real."

Mark coughed awkwardly, turning back toward his laptop to pull up the next video. "Alright, so like I mentioned earlier, these next ones are more comedy-based and will get stupider as we go through these; this is reflecting my levels of humor - butt and penis jokes with stupid cliches. I'm going to play Google's video and then Bing's." Mark paused the Google video after Matthias popped up in view. "This is one of my friends. His name is Matthias and he's a YouTuber like me." He resumed the video immediately after he finished speaking, the video showing Matthias bringing in a small-ass box and placing it on the ground.

King laughed his ass off seeing Mark leap up from the box, making a goofy face. In the room, Google crossed his arm, not liking the laughter at his expense, even if it wasn't him. In the video, Google extended his hand to shake Matthias' hand, only to hit him in the balls. Google was assigned to do the laundry, and there was laughter when Mark in the video ripped the shirt. The laughter coming from Mark, King, and Bing only increased when Google in the video took a plate and shattered it with a hammer. After watching the comedic ending of Matthias continuing to ask Google questions, Mark wiped the tears from his eyes. 

"Ugh... I made this _so_ long ago; it doesn't even look that good anymore. Honestly, what was I thinking by choosing that tiny box in the first place?" he said, turning to face Google with an amused look on his face. "I'm gonna guess that this didn't happen at _all."_

"You would be correct," Google responded grumpily, yet he still didn't seem to be in a _murderous_ mood. "I was created by Google, but that was one of the few things you got correct. After I was activated, I terminated all employees in the building and went out to complete my secondary objective, which you also got correct. Dark found me and rebooted me, and I had been living with him since with the ability to choose my self-made objectives."

"Huh," Mark said in response, not finding much to say before he turned to Dark in his corner. "Hey, before I come to regret this later, do you want us to call you Dark, Damien, or Celine?"

"Damien is _fine,"_ he responded, shooting a look at the others before they could form any ideas. After seeing the scared looks on their faces, Damien settled back in his chair. "Celine is sleeping right now."

Mark nodded slowly, stammering slightly after seeing Damien's anger. "Oh... okay..." He turned around, eyes wide and mouthed, _Holy Shit_ , inaudible to those around him as he played the next video in the Google IRL series.

This one started as lighthearted as Google IRL did, showcasing Bing skating and cutting to unsettling scenes of Google sitting in the living room and receiving his upgrade. Mark snorted at the sight of Bing "skating," or rather, Mark using his hands as feet so he could do the tricks and flips. The sight of Mark's hands in the sneakers got laughs from the happier egos and even elicited snickers from the doctor, Wil, and Bim. Bing, who was a less-serious person, didn't seem to mind being the butt of the joke, which Mark was thankful for.

Then, Bing in the video met with Google, where they talked for a bit with Bing mocking the other. Bim, however, was very unhappy with one key factor. "C'mon, Mark; why'd you _intentionally_ give Bing that _stupid_ voice?"

King gasped. "Bim, that's _so_ mean! Take it back!"

Mark sighed. "As I said, everything I did was originally to entertain the audience. I'm sorry for affecting you guys with my stupidity, but I didn't know that I was affecting people's lives - literally - by doing this. I'm sorry."

"Oh, just don't mind these idiots," Wilford drawled, waving his hand to dismiss Bim and King, "Keep on with the show!"

Mark resumed the video, and then the egos watched as Google split into Google_B, Google_R, Google_G, and Google_Y and they closed in on Bing threateningly. Bing screeched with laughter, clutching his sides at the sight of a mini version of his popping out and talking in a higher pitch. Google faced the camera...

_Do I feel lucky?_

... and the video ended there. Mark closed the laptop temporarily, facing Google and Bing. "I'm curious, _can_ you split yourself?"

Google shook his head. "I was not given this function, and so I am unable to do so. However, I must point out that the production value of this video was more sophisticated than the previous one."

Mark chuckled lightly. "Yeah, I hope it is! This was filmed a long time after Google IRL was filmed. Technology got upgraded, and so it just looks better." He turned around to directly address Bing. "You know, I've never actually thought of an origin story for you, yet. How did you come around?"

Bing, who had finally recovered from his laughing fit, shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, you know. Not so different from Google; I was just created by Bing, and then I escaped. Killing isn't my thing, you know. I was only programmed to appeal to humans, which is why I'm _so_ much better and cooler than _him,"_ he said, pointing his thumb over at Google, who simply flipped him off without changing his face at all, "But anyway, Dark - Damien, sorry - found me and took me in. Us Mark's that aren't Mark have got to stick together, ya know?"

Mark nodded contemplatively at his response. "Yeah. It's a good thing you guys already knew each other before you came here, or we'd all probably be dead by now after trying to kill each other." Meanwhile, Mark's mind was fixed on the one shared detail with the egos: the developing pattern. It seems as though in their world, Dark had been looking for the other egos and took them under his metaphorical wing, giving them a sanctuary. Mark hypothesized that Dark had been out through the world looking for Mark in his bloodthirsty quest to kill him, and when he found the others in Mark's place, he might have recruited them so that they could help Dark.

Suddenly, Mark's phone rang from his pocket, and he quickly removed it. On the screen was Tyler's name, and he cursed under his breath. "Sorry, guys," he said standing up, "I've got to take this call, and then we can go back to what we were going, okay?"

Damien lazily turned to face Mark. "Is it your friend from earlier?"

Mark nodded, sighing stressfully as he ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, one of them." He accepted the call, putting it on speaker so that the others could hear. "Hey, Tyler! What's up?"

 _"I don't know, Mark,"_ Tyler responded, the cell phone making his voice slightly distorted, and Mark realized with a chill that this was distinctly Tyler _Don't Give Me That_ _Bullshit_ Scheid's tone of voice. _"What's been going on with you?"_

Mark swallowed, voice wavering slightly. "Umm... nothing. I'm just here at the vet with Chica. It's a lot more serious than I thought. She ate something and her stomach has to be pumped."

 _"Oh, really?"_ Tyler responded, pausing slightly so that he could make Mark sweat a little more, _"That's funny; because I have **your** location on one of those **Find Your Stupid, Lying Friends** apps that you can get off the App Store, and you know what? You're at **home** right now. And I'm guessing that Chica is with you, too."_

Mark panicked, looking at the others in the room. "Uh... well, you know... I left my phone at home and that's why my location is at home!"

There was a pause. Mark slowly raised his hand to hit his forehead after realizing the stupidity of the statement.

_"Mark... you know that I dialed in **your** cell number, right?"_

Mark huffed. "Shut up, Tyler! Why do you have one of those apps, anyway? Doesn't that count as stalking, or something?"

"Well, if you must know," Tyler responded, a bit of amusement in his voice, "we suspected that your last visit to the hospital wasn't going to be the last. So, we all have your location. It's kind of like we're monitoring our little kid. Except, the kid is a 31-year-old man with the intelligence of a kid."

"... Shut up, Tyler," Mark muttered petulantly.

_"Also, who the hell are those people in there with you?"_

Mark's heart stopped. 

"What people?"

_"Don't lie, dumbass. I'm looking through the backdoor; I can see you and your guests."_

Mark dropped his phone, not caring whether it was broken or not as he ran to the glass sliding door. Sure enough, there was Tyler, waving his hand sarcastically in greeting with Ethan behind him, skittering about nervously. Mark wrenched the door open, fixing an incredulous look on his friends.

"What the hell?"

Tyler shrugged. "Something was off, man. You're a horrible liar when we're talking face-to-face. I knew something was off, so I drove around the block twice and came back. You didn't answer my question; who are those people?"

Mark looked behind him, meeting the others' faces, uncertainty laced on all of them. Sighing, Mark beckoned with his head, bringing the other two inside before shutting the door firmly shut behind them and drawing the curtains to a close.

"Okay, look," Mark started, "What I'm about to tell you is gonna sound _really_ weird, but I'm going to need you to just shut up and listen -"

"OH. MAH. GOD," Ethan shouted over Mark, "It's fuckin' Darkiplier!"

Damien quirked an eyebrow, a small smirk settling on his face. 

Tyler gaped, seeing the other egos.

Ethan ran about the room, here and there, becoming a mass of pure, chaotic energy. "And that's _Wil_ -ford _Warf_ -stache, and King of the Squirrels, and Bim Trimmer, and Dr. Iplier (I loved that sketch)..."

He finished beside Mark, smiling happily at them all. "Nice cosplays, guys!"

Tyler coughed, eyes fixed on the shadows growing behind Damien, pulling Ethan away from the others, "Um, Ethan, they aren't cosplaying or dressing up."

Ethan scoffed playfully, thinking it was a joke, "Uh, open your eyes, Tyler! It's not like they're real or..." His words died out as he studied Tyler's unamused expression, Mark's uncomfortable fidgeting, and then turned toward the egos watching the scene with mixed emotions of nervousness and apprehension. 

"Oh... this... Wow, Mark. What the hell did you do?" Ethan said, staring at the egos in the living room.

Mark sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "I didn't do _anything,_ thank you very much. Yesterday, last night, I found these guys in my house. They're from an alternate world where the events of 'Who Killed Markiplier' took place. Our fiction is their reality."

Tyler frowned. "How does that even work? And how did they get here?"

Mark threw his hands up in the air. "Well, if I knew the answer to any of those questions, then they wouldn't be here, would they? Trust me, I'm just as clueless about this as you are."

Ethan went to recircle the egos once more, this time with some trepidation. "Wow... this is so cool. I mean, if something like this exists, how many worlds are out there?" 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you guys," Mark continued, "but we had no idea what would happen if someone else saw them. We think that this is the first world or Earth-Prime. I'm the original, so yay, I guess. But we thought that there was a reason they were brought here, specifically, so we were watching the videos."

Tyler slowly nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense. You don't know what to do, so start with what you have. My question is what are you going to do when Wade and Bob get here?"

Mark groaned, "Oh no! I forgot. Shit. Well, we'll deal with that problem when it comes. You guys can't tell anyone about this; I really don't want to draw unnecessary attention to them."

"Yeah, sure man!" Ethan responded, looking at Damien and Wilford. "Um, hi. I'm a really big fan," he said, inner fanboy coming out.

In the background, Bing snickered.

Damien nodded uncomfortably toward him. "...Thanks." On the other hand, Wilford smiled energetically, clapping Ethan on the back. "Well, nice to meet you, scamp!"

"Whoa," Ethan whispered, eyes wide, "Mark, they sound just like the way you created them! Uh, sorry. I didn't introduce myself; I'm Ethan Nestor, and that's Tyler Scheid. We... already know who you guys are."

Mark went over to the blue-haired man, placing his hands on his shoulders protectively. "They're my friends, and we work together. They helped me make 'Who Killed Markiplier'. There won't be a problem, right?" he asked, his tone leaving little room for argument.

Tyler walked to the laptop hooked up to the flatscreen TV, opening it and studying the screen. "What did you show them?"

Mark coughed awkwardly. "Well, I started out with 'Who Killed Markiplier' before we did the Google IRL videos. The others aren't nearly as serious, so I thought it would be better to start with the serious one and then crash-and-burn."

"Yeah, that makes sense," Tyler said in a sarcastic voice, searching through the videos. "Markiplier TV... the Wilford Warfstache interviews... Worst News Doctor... Hire My Ass... I mean, it doesn't sound like you're going to find anything in these videos."

"... Yeah, I know," Mark sighed dejectedly. "I just thought there was something I might have missed, you know? And I was willing to try." 

"Well, maybe you've been going about this the wrong way," Ethan piped up. "I mean, if you guys think that this is because of some alternate reality sciencey bullshit, maybe you should research that instead!"

"But we weren't done!" Wilford protested, gesturing toward the screen. The Host gently spoke to him, "I know, Wilford. But I agree with what they're saying; we aren't getting anywhere with this. You guys can watch this later for fun, but let's investigate Ethan's idea first, okay?"

"Aww, but I wanna!"

"How about," Mark cut in suddenly before a fight could be instigated, "we split, then! Wil, you can stay here with King, Bing, and whoever else wants to watch. I'm going to go up to the recording room and look into this stuff with anyone who wants to join me. Sound good?"


	6. A Sprinkling of Evil House Entity...

Mark stared at his computer screen, the text cursor blinking repeatedly in the Google search engine box.

"Maybe start with 'alternate realities'," the Host suggested gently from behind him, sitting in a chair that he had brought up with him. 

"I was thinking about that," Mark said, "but there'd probably only be references from pop culture. I have to find a way to limit this so that it's only the science that comes up."

"So," Damien said from the corner of the room where he was leaning comfortably against the wall, "add 'science' to the search."

Mark blinked. "Oh. Right." He turned back to face the computer, typing in the words and hitting "Enter" on his keyboard. Immediately, thousands of search results popped up, and Mark started to scroll through them. Surprisingly, there were more articles on the idea of alternate realities and a multiverse than Mark had previously thought. 

The Host peered over Mark's shoulder. "It seems like there are a lot of results. Perhaps if you produce a device for Damien and me, we could work through the articles together." Mark nodded immediately in response, standing up suddenly. "Yeah! Right; I'll use my phone. You can take the computer, and I'll get my tablet in my bedroom for Damien."

Mark stepped outside the recording room and into the hallway upstairs, the raucous laughter from downstairs now easily audible. Smiling softly, Mark quietly went into his bedroom and unplugged the tablet, exiting the room and making sure to shut it securely behind him. He sighed softly, feeling the overwhelming emotions overtaking his mind, and he took this moment to gather his wits.

_Jesus Christ, what the hell am I doing? Alternate realities, multiverse; I'm way in over my head. I have no idea what I'm doing..._

"Hey, are you okay?"

Mark whipped around, relaxing when he saw Dr. Iplier at the top of the stairs, looking at Mark with worry. "You were just staring at the ground for a while, and I was concerned," the doctor explained, walking closer to Mark.

"Yeah, no; I'm fine," Mark huffed, smiling to alleviate the other's worry. "Why aren't you watching with the others?"

The doctor shrugged. "We just finished watching my video, and it was getting pretty loud. I thought I would come up and help, seeing that I wasn't going to be doing anything." He tilted his head slightly, studying Mark closely. "It's remarkable; while the scenes didn't happen in our world, you managed to perfectly capture our mannerisms. I'll admit, watching Wilford's face when he saw you get his voice _exactly_ right was pretty funny."

Mark smiled, shifting awkwardly at the praise. "Ah, thanks. I put a lot of work into getting where I am, so I'm glad to hear that."

Dr. Iplier smiled warmly in return. "It's an accomplishment worthy of praise. Thank you for helping us." After talking to the doctor, Mark felt extremely relieved, and he forgot what it was he had been worried about. "I've been told that I have a warming presence," Dr. Iplier explained. "Each one of us has special abilities; you know that Damien manipulates shadows and is extremely persuasive. The Host can force something to happen by talking. Wilford is an embodiment of chaos, and it's hard to explain what he can do; I've seen him create objects from thin air. Both Bing and Google can manipulate technology. King can talk to animals, and Bim is somehow even more persuasive than Damien."

Mark blinked slowly. "...Wow. I didn't implement that into anybody."

Dr. Iplier shrugged. "We've developed them over time. It's kind of funny; the longer we existed, the stronger we got. I cross-referenced with Google; the times when we became more popular happened to coincide with incidents when we experienced a spike in our abilities; as a doctor, I knew when everyone's health changed."

"Huh," Mark said, frowning in thought. "That's weird. Maybe it's related to ideas. You were all created from an idea I came up with, so maybe when you were held up in popularity by the fans, you began to get stronger as a result because your idea was getting stronger."

"It's hard to tell," the doctor responded, placing a hand on Mark's shoulder which only made his body slump like a limp noodle. "But it's not impossible. Nothing is truly impossible at this point. Let us join the others, shall we?"

Mark nodded slowly, chocolate eyes unfocused. "Uh... huh..." Dr. Iplier took Mark gently by his shoulders, opening the door of the recording room and leading him inside.

* * *

Damien was sitting in Mark's rolling chair, reading into the man's history on Wikipedia as he and the Host waited patiently for Mark to return. He read through how Mark had lost his father and was in an abusive relationship, then had gone through surgery to have his appendix removed which had a tumor. He was impressed by the man's comeback and the determination it took.

As he finished scanning through the important details, Damien cleared the search and waited for Mark to return, but when the minutes grew in length, he started to get impatient. He looked down to check his elegant watch; about nine minutes had passed. "What's taking so long?" he growled aloud.

The Host raised a hand in the air at chest-height. "Relax, Damien. I'm sure that Mark is being held up in a simple conversation. You don't still hold any distrust toward him, do you?"

Damien crossed his arms and crossed his legs. "Of course not; I'm just saying that he's been gone for a while." As soon as these words left his mouth, the creaking sounds of the door opening sounded out, and the inhabitants turned to face Mark.

"There you are - ... Doctor, what did you do?" Damien demanded more than asked, standing up abruptly as the Host did the same.

Dr. Iplier looked between Mark dangling in his arms and Damien's furious yet anxious face. "Mark was experiencing extreme stress; I calmed him down," the doctor responded.

Damien looked at Mark, frowning incredulously. Calmed him down? It was like he had been drugged; Mark was not even supporting his weight, eyes closed and his body slumped. His face had a peaceful look on it as if he was having a blissful dream with a broad smile on his face. 

The Host quickly took Mark, supporting him gently as he led the man to the bean bag chair in the back of the room, lying him down in it. "Doctor, the amount of strength you would typically use to help us is different for Mark. We are stronger than he is; he's only human."

The doctor's eyes widened as the meaning of the words sunk in. "Oh no. I thought he was just acting this way because it was his first time. Is he going to be okay?"

The Host lifted a hand toward Mark's neck, taking his pulse with two fingers. "It's weaker than it should be," he responded, the blindfold creasing in a frown. "We've never used our abilities on humans - I don't know what the effects are. He could be dying right now."

Damien cursed, pacing the room to stave off his worry. "What else could be happening if not imminent death?" he asked the Host, hoping for another answer. 

"It could be many things. Maybe he recovers without any side effects. Maybe he stays like this forever." He paused, a contemplative look passing his face. "Or, perhaps something else is going on."

Dr. Iplier, kneeling on the ground and supporting Mark's head looked up desperately. "Is it good or bad?"

"It depends on how you view it," the Host replied vaguely, explaining quickly, "When we were living in the house, I detected something. The house was emitting unidentifiable energy that was being absorbed by us; the inhabitants. I believe this to be the reason of us gaining our abilities. Damien, who was the first and most powerful, was the first to absorb the energy in the house when he came back from the dead. We all are made up of some part of this energy in us."

Damien stopped walking around the room, standing behind the Host as he realized what the Host was getting at. "You're saying that he's becoming like us."

Dr. Iplier's face paled. "Oh, fuck."

The Host shrugged, not concerned at all. "Well, it's one possibility. The doctor may have pushed his energy into Mark, and now his human body is dealing with it. Come to think of it, this is similar to how I reacted when my powers first manifested."

"Oh my god," Dr. Iplier said, clutching his head with both hands. "I fucked up, big time."

Damien wanted to respond with, "Yes, you did," but refrained from doing so. He knew that saying that wouldn't solve anything, and instead knelt by Mark's body. By now, the YouTuber was shivering, the happy look on his face long gone and replaced with a frown. He placed the back of his hand on Mark's forehead. "He's burning up."

The Host quirked an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're not just saying that because you're naturally cold?" He did the same as Damien had done, hissing as he withdrew his hand quickly. "He's not just hot; he's _burning."_

"That's what I _said,"_ Damien snapped.

Then, Mark stilled, not shivering anymore yet still unresponsive. Damien stood up, taking decisive action. "Move him to his room and onto the bed. I'm going to persuade Ethan and Tyler to leave, and then I'll get the others to help. Do it _quietly,"_ he emphasized before stepping out and leaving the door open behind him as he walked downstairs.

Everyone was sitting in the living room where they had been left, and Damien walked up to the group. Quickly, he grasped Ethan and Tyler sitting next to each other by their shoulders, holding one in each hand as he bent his head in the space between their heads.

"You're going to go home," Damien spoke softly, "You finished watching the videos, and you said goodbye to everyone and Mark, who is perfectly fine. Leave now, and don't come back for a week because you're too scared of us to come back."

Their faces glazed over, and Tyler and Ethan abruptly stood up without saying anything, walking like Google as they gathered their belongings and left the house. The sound of a car starting left Damien to face the other egos, unaware of the situation they had on their hands.

"What the hell?" Wilford exclaimed indignantly. "That Tyler was pretty damn funny; we were just talking about different types of bubblegum. Why'd you make them leave?"

"Forget that," Damien snapped, getting them all to shut up quickly. "We've got a bigger problem on our hands, courtesy of _the doc._ Upstairs. **Now**."

The egos quickly got up, wise enough to not press their luck as they did as they were told, Damien directing them to Mark's bedroom. When the dark entity slammed the door open, his eyes narrowed significantly as he saw Mark's current condition.

Mark was drenched in sweat, tossing and turning in the bed as he tangled himself in the blanket. He was clearly having a very bad nightmare, the chaotic energy of the house settling in to its newfound host.

"What happened?!" King squeaked in worry.

While the Host quickly explained what had happened, Damien went up to the side of the bed next to Dr. Iplier, who had his hands clenched in his hair as if he was about to tear the strands out.

"Can you calm him down," Damien demanded, not bothering to ask.

"Is that wise?" the doctor asked. "He's acting this way _because_ of my powers. I don't want to make things any worse."

Damien paused, not knowing what to do. He was at a loss with no control over the situation, and it bothered him to no end. Bing coughed in the background, "Maybe we should listen to the doctor."

"Wasn't it the good ol' doctor who started this in the first place?" Bim asked bitingly, glaring at Dr. Iplier who hid his face in his hands. Google tilted his head, analyzing Mark's form. "His temperature is currently 140 degrees Fahrenheit; a temperature not previously tolerated by any human. His condition is critical. Something must be done."

"Fire manipulation, maybe," Wilford spoke up, waving his hand in Mark's general direction. "He's kind of got the personality of one, anyway. Nice and warm to hot and blazing. I wouldn't be surprised."

The Host walked up, pushing Damien to the side. "Let me," he spoke simply, before going to Mark and putting his hand on the man's forehead. 

**_Mark, can you hear me?_ **

With a start, Damien realized that the Host was communicating with Mark telepathically. Not effortlessly; the Host was frowning with the strain.

 _Yes, I can hear you. What is happening to me? Everything hurts._

_**Listen to me closely, Mark. When the doctor calmed you, he transferred a part of himself into you; the part that gives us our abilities. We gained this from the house; Damien took the brunt of it since he was the first, but I suppose the order doesn't matter. You're struggling a lot more than any of us did, which suggests that your abilities will be on par with his. I am going to guide you through the process to make sure you make it through this alive.** _

_Oh god. Okay, what do I do?_

**_No matter what happens, do NOT stop fighting. If you do, it'll consume you and overpower you entirely. You'll cease to exist. I've seen it happen... It wasn't a pleasant sight._ **

_So, keep fighting? That's it?!_

**_I'm sorry, but it's all the information I have to offer you. Wilford lost his sanity because he stopped halfway through. Others have died. You need to keep going._ **

_Okay. Okay, I can do this. No biggie. No problemo. Wait, this means that I get superpowers, right? Wow, that's AWESOME! At least there's something to look forward to. Man, I hope I can control time; wouldn't that be cool? It's the superpower I've always wanted. I could go back in time and kick myself in the butt for being lazy. I could see Daniel again. I could see my dad again and tell him about everything I've accomplished. Wow, wouldn't that be amazing? I -_

"Jesus, can you tell him to shut up?" Bim groaned, clutching his ears. "I can't shut his voice out; it's in my head!"

_**You're rambling, Mark. And also affecting the others with your constant stream of thoughts.** _

_Oops. Sorry, guys._

_**Just focus, Mark. Get through this, and we can talk about the repercussions afterward.** _

_Was that Damien?_

**_Yes._ **

_Hi Damien!_

**_Mark..._ **

_Sorry! Sorry, I'm focusing now._

**_YoU've gOT tHIs, BuDDy!_ ** ~~ ~~

**_SHUT UP WILFORD._ **

**_Please, Mark needs quiet._ **

_Don't worry guys, I'll be fine; I'm sure of it. There's food in the kitchen for you guys; please don't burn my house down!!! If you do, Chica's life is more important than mine. Oh, and there are also some movies in the basement you can watch if you get bored. Or board games, which are also in the basement next to the movies. Or video games, which are on the shelf next to the board games which are next to the movies. Oh! Can one of you let Chica out into the backyard? I should have walked her, but if you play fetch with her, I think she'll be fine. She's a really good girl. Damn, and Wade and Bob are coming over in a couple of weeks. Did Tyler and_ _Ethan leave already? Did they get back safely? Man, I'm bored. I'm also kind of hankering for some brownies; do I even have any left? Ooh, or SUGAR COOKIES. The ones with the pink icing and blue and white sprinkles are the BEST-_

The Host retracted his hand from Mark's forehead, shaking his head in fond exasperation.

"I shudder to think what a man like him will do with his immense power." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What powers do you think Mark will develop? There is only one requirement:
> 
> \- It has to reflect his character/personality.
> 
> Let your mind run wild! Leave your thoughts in the comments below, and who knows? I might use your suggestion in the next chapter!!!
> 
> :)


	7. How to Care For Your Creator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are the egos and their abilities!!!
> 
> Darkiplier  
> \- Shadow Manipulation  
> \- Illusion/Hallucination Casting  
> \- Charmspeak/Persuasion  
> \- Teleportation  
> \- Intangibility/Phasing  
> \- Mind Control/Possession  
> \- Telepathy  
> \- Telekinesis
> 
> Weakness: Light
> 
> Wilford Warfstache  
> \- Chaos Energy Manipulation  
> \- Matter Manipulation/Creation  
> \- Telepathy  
> \- Illusion/Hallucination Casting  
> \- Precognition  
> \- Teleportation
> 
> Weakness: Easily Deceived
> 
> The Host  
> \- Telepathy  
> \- Total Control of Events Through Narration  
> \- Slight Power of Persuasion  
> \- Precognition  
> \- Illusion Casting
> 
> Weakness: Sight
> 
> Dr. Iplier  
> \- Healing Touch (Physical)  
> \- Calming Aura (when he touches someone, he can suppress overwhelming emotions)  
> \- Precognition, only if someone is hurt
> 
> Weakness: Hesitation to do Harm
> 
> Google  
> \- Access to Information & Internet  
> \- Manipulation of Technology  
> \- Lack of Pain
> 
> Weakness: Asking Him Too Many Questions
> 
> Bing  
> \- Access to Information & Internet  
> \- Manipulation of Technology  
> \- Ability to Emphasize with Humans
> 
> Weakness: His Childish/Immature Behavior
> 
> Bim Trimmer  
> \- Charmspeak/Persuasion  
> \- Mind Control
> 
> Weakness: Egotistical and Arrogant
> 
> King of the Squirrels  
> \- Communicates with Animals  
> \- Summons Animals to Fight for Him
> 
> Weakness: Anything That Can Be Used to Inflict Pain, Hurting Animals

With Mark now literally fighting for his life, Damien stood close by with the Host, monitoring his health as he progressed through the changes being made to his body.

All the egos knew how long and strenuous the change was; it changed your entire psyche, body form, and biology to bring out the REAL you. For Damien, it had latched onto his anger and betrayal, thus making him a being of wrath and darkness with thoughts of revenge. For Wilford, the energy brought out his eccentricity and affinity for fun and chaos, amplifying those aspects in the man. With the Host, the energy had honed in on his quiet and reserved nature, attaching itself to his love for words, books, and stories. Dr. Iplier’s love for his profession had the energy gift him with a healing touch, yet also increased his naivety, reducing his capabilities. Google and Bing, who had already been androids, were modified to be more responsive to other technology. The energy twisted Bim’s egotism to make him apathetic to those around him and only worried about himself. King was the anomaly; his positive traits were brought out by the energy of the house, and thus he was given the ability to talk to animals - being very fond of them in the first place.

Damien didn't know what was going to happen to Mark after the change, and that worried him significantly. If the man’s sincerity and kindness was overcome by some bad trait, it would only be a matter of time before his fans picked up on it. It could very well tarnish his reputation and end his career...

”Mark isn't like the rest of us, Damien,” the Host spoke up to interrupt his winding thoughts. ”He holds traits that we don't have: hope, faith, loyalty, righteousness, passion, sympathy, empathy, and a great number of other traits. If anything, this energy should only increase the presence of these feelings.”

Damien sighed, leaning back in his chair as he tried to ease his mind. By now, it had gotten dark outside, the hours passing by slowly with Mark’s life hanging in the balance. It was strange to see the usually-energetic and loud-spoken man so quiet and immobile. The other egos had gone off to sleep; how they were able to do so, Damien didn't know. But he could clearly hear the loud snores of Wilford in the neighboring room - sawing loudly through a thick log.

”... It is _extremely_ loud,” the Host spoke aloud.

Damien shook his head. ”I just don't understand him. He's so erratic.”

The Host smiled slightly. ”Yes, but so is Mark.”

This received a look of doubt from Damien. ”Really? You think that Mark is like Wilford?”

”He has a bit of all of us,” the Host explained in his calming voice, ”He has a bit of unpredictable nature and an overall sense of fun like Wilford. He has a love for telling stories as I do, as he has demonstrated with the making of his videos. His love for the environment and for Chica is grounded in King. He cares about people’s wellbeing and raises money for charity which reflects Dr. Iplier’s penchant for good. He holds himself in high esteem like Bim, but not statistically - rather, he is proud of himself for his accomplishments. Google and Bing reflect his opposite tendencies: Google is his seriousness and needs to be right, whilst Bing is his carefree nature and goofiness. And yes, he even reflects you, Damien.”

Before Damien could scoff at the idea, the Host quickly interjected, ”Both sides of you; Damien and Dark. He reflects Damien with his sincerity and good-naturedness, and his desire to do the right thing. With Dark, his anger is reflected, but not with hatred. He becomes angry when his friends and close ones are in danger. His protectiveness exists in the form of Dark. So, you see, he indeed holds a part of us in him; only the good.”

Damien shook his head slowly. ”Yet again, you manage to prove me wrong.”

The Host grinned, teeth breaking through. ”Well, it's my job.”

Suddenly, Mark groaned in pain, causing the two to look down at him on the bed with concern. He shifted onto his stomach, groaned again, and then turned on his side and curled up into a ball.

”I have two other concerns,” the Host admitted quietly, confiding in Damien. ”I worry that whatever ability manifests in Mark will be too great for him to control and overcome, affecting his life and work. He’s already experiencing the greatest pain that any one of us has had to endure, and it's gone on longer than usual. The power that results from this can only be described as unimaginable.”

Damien exhaled loudly through his nose, crossing his arms. ”We’ll all help him get through it,” he stated, looking down at Mark’s still form. ”We all will.”

”Yes, but we can't guarantee that he’ll even make it through the night,” the Host spoke, voice a little harder. ”And that brings me to my next concern. When Mark started to shift and the pain kicked in, you felt a sharp pain in the back of your head, didn't you?”

Damien rubbed the base of his skull absentmindedly, remembering the event. ”Yes, I recall that. Why?”

The Host leaned in closer, speaking in a hushed tone that was still heard over the sounds of Wilford’s snoring. ”We were affected by Mark’s pain. I don't know if you saw, but I felt my hand start to fade when I felt Mark nearing the brink of death. It suggests that if Mark does, then so will we.”

Damien felt a chill run down his spine. ”Are you certain?”

”No, but it would make sense,” the Host continued, ”After all, he’s the one who created us; he's the Original. The First of Us. All I know is, we can't let him die, or we’ll suffer extreme consequences, if not outright death.”

Damien shut his eyes tight. ”Great; if not for that idiotic doctor, we wouldn't be in this situation at all!”

”Peace, my friend,” the Host said softly, reaching over the bed to place a comforting hand on Damien’s shoulder. ”It was bound to happen eventually. We were all giving off excess energy that Mark would have absorbed enough for this to happen sometime in the future. He was already taking in energy from everyone; even you. It only activated when the doctor gave it a final nudge. Dr. Iplier’s intentions were pure and innocent. You can't fault him for trying to help.”

”No, I can't,” Damien acknowledged reluctantly, ”but that doesn't mean that he couldn't have thought about the repercussions. He should have been able to recognize the risk and stop himself.”

”They're _children_ , Damien,” the Host chided, ”They haven't been around _normal_ people in our world; they've only been cooped up in the mansion with each other for company. You and I, being the oldest ones, are therefore the most responsible and knowledgeable. I can't exactly label Wilford as responsible enough,” the Host added as an afterthought, ”He may be one of the oldest, but he’s far too silly and enjoys causing mischief.” 

Damien snorted, the joke alleviating both of their stress for a short while. ”Of course; it wouldn't be Wilford otherwise, would it?”

A whimper from the bed put an end to the chuckles as quickly as they had started.

”What kind of power would he have that would be so great in strength? It would have to be something he wouldn't be able to hide if he's reacting like this, right?” Damien questioned.

”It's hard to know,” the Host replied, tilting his head in speculation. ”I believe the others have started a betting pool, as a matter of fact.”

Damien stared at him through narrowed eyes, not doubting the idiocy of the others and yet still was in denial. ”You're joking.”

”No,” the Host replied, shaking his head firmly, ”I saw it. They wrote it on the magnetic whiteboard on the kitchen refrigerator downstairs. Their theories are... quite interesting, to say the least.”

Damien shut his eyes. ”Besides the fact that the idea itself is absolutely horrible and inconsiderate, do I even want to know what they put down?”

The Host chuckled with amusement. ”Wilford is adamant that Mark will become a pyromaniac. King believes that he’ll have some connection with nature. Bing mentioned something about telepathy, while Bim suggested mind control. The doctor believes that Mark will develop a healing touch like himself. Google didn't bother suggesting anything,” the Host finished, drawing in a breath.

Damien snorted. ”How eloquent. They all chose something that reflected themselves. Except for Bing; he's the only one with an imagination.”

The Host leaned in closer. ”You have quite an imagination, yourself. What do you speculate, Damien?”

He shrugged in response, ”Wilford usually has a knack for guessing things on the first try, but Mark doesn't exactly fit within our boundaries.” He paused, thinking to himself. ”He’s a free spirit; maybe he’ll have wind manipulation. Or, perhaps light manipulation, since he is a morally righteous being.”

The Host nodded slowly. ”Perhaps. The thing that puzzles me is that none of these abilities could affect a person like such in the change. It just doesn't fit.”

”... So then what _does_ fit?” Damien pressed.

”I'm worried that it could be something that we have no knowledge on,” the Host replied. ”The best we can hope for is extensive abilities of the mind: telepathy, telekinesis, mind control and/or manipulation of the highest degree. Anything else that we know of wouldn't be able to have such an astounding effect. I'm worried that we won't be able to teach or help him.”

”All abilities are rooted in our emotions,” Damien responded. ”We can teach him that, at most, and learn with him. It's the least we can do, considering all he's done for us and all the trouble we've caused him.”

Mark stirred in his unconscious state again, starting to speak aloud. ”Don't worry... I'm fine, guys...”

Damien frowned. ”Can he hear us?”

The Host shook his head slowly, studying Mark with curiosity. ”No, he shouldn't...”

Mark shifted again, seizing his pillow and squeezing it tightly, holding it against him as he snuggled up against it.

The Host tilted his head to one side. ”Interesting... It would make sense...” He didn't elaborate on his thought, leaving Damien to speculate what it was the Host was thinking about. In addition to being left in the unknown, the Host was now closed off from any conversation that Damien tried to strike up, so deep in this unknown thought of his.

With nothing else to do, Damien settled back into his chair and watched over Mark, who continued to shift and shake as he pushed through the phases of his body being altered and remade. 

* * *

The moon hung in the sky and sank again, letting the sun arise up in its place to mark the beginning of the new day.

Still, Mark didn't wake.

By now, even the Host was anxious for Mark’s critical condition. They never had a person spend so long in the change; seeing him there unable to do anything was extremely disheartening.

They were all in Mark’s bedroom, standing at the end of Mark’s bed. Google was sitting by Mark’s side on the bed and taking his temperature with the sensors on his hand. He stood up suddenly, walking away to join the others. ”It’s back to normal,” he said confidently. ”Look at his face; it's gaining some color. There's a good chance that he'll make it through this. I think he's just passed the biggest part.”

”But...” King piped up hesitantly from the back of the room, almost out of sight behind Bing’s back, ”... There's another phase, isn't there? The first phase is getting used to the energy in your body, which is why Mark was in pain earlier. The second phase is when the body accepts the energy and the selection process begins where the energy chooses what power to give; that's the calming phase where nothing happens. But the third phase...”

”The third phase kicks in like a bullet,” Bim recalled, frowning at the realization. ”It’s worse than the first phase. How is he going to deal with that?”

They all stood there silently, the weight of the statement sinking in. Bing wrung his hands anxiously while Wilford scratched the side of his head with the end of the barrel of his gun.

Dr. Iplier sighed stressfully. ”I'm so sorry, everyone.”

”It's not your fault,” Damien spoke, surprising the others. ”We were all giving off excess energy; Mark had been absorbing it from all of us. This was bound to happen eventually.” From the side, the Host nodded slightly in an appreciative manner toward Damien.

”If you all remember,” the Host spoke slowly, thinking deeply, ”while the third phase is indeed the most painful to experience, it also was the shortest. Therefore, there is still a chance that Mark will be able to overcome this. We should all be here when it happens. Hopefully, the energy will take a longer time to select what it wants Mark to manifest as, giving him more time to recover in phase two.”

”Well, now look what you did!” Wilford snapped, gesturing with his gun toward Mark’s body. ”You just jinxed it!”

As soon as Wilford had spoken, Mark sat upright on the bed so suddenly, it was as if he had been struck with a bolt of electricity. His eyes were open, and he looked at the other egos. ”Something... something’s not right, guys,” he said for the first time, clutching his stomach. Suddenly, he bent over the edge of his bed, snatching the small trash bin in his room and started to vomit a red liquid.

Blood.

After he had stopped, Mark recoiled back onto the bed, lying as he clutched his head in agony. ”Guys,” he gasped, ”there’s something wrong with me.” 

Then, he started to thrash and scream.

”HOLD HIM DOWN!” The Host took charge immediately, and Bing and Dr. Iplier moved to push Mark into the bed. However, Mark was moving too wildly, and they were unable to keep him down for more than ten seconds at a time. The Host was worried that Mark was going to hit his head on the headboard of the bed or fall off if he wasn't restrained.

Damien shouted over the screaming for Bim to draw the curtains shut so that the sunlight would disappear. As the game-show host did as he was instructed, Wilford snapped his fingers, and padded handcuffs materialized on Mark’s wrists and ankles in a poof of sparkly pink dust, the other ends latched onto the bars of the headboard and footboard of the bed. King cowered in fear from the horrible screaming in the corner of the room, covering his ears with his hands.

Mark screamed louder, head craned upward as he strained to break free. Already, the chain links seemed to stretch. However, before they snapped completely, Bim had managed to block all sources of sunlight while Google flipped off the light switch.

Damien drew on Dark’s powers, raising his hand and pointing his open palm at Mark. Immediately, dark tendrils of solid shadow wrapped around Mark’s torso, arms, and legs, firmly anchoring Mark to the bed in place while Bing and Dr. Iplier held Mark by his shoulders for insurance.

”MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE, JUST MAKE IT FUCKING STOP!” Mark screeched at the top of his lungs.

The Host laid one finger on Mark’s shoulder before retracting it quickly as if he had been burned. ”He’s under a lot of pain! I was only to take a short glimpse into his mind; I can't take away some of the pain like I was able to do for the rest of you!” he shouted over the chaos.

Damien started to sweat with the concentration of keeping Mark anchored with the shadows. Was that super-strength? He never had such a difficult time holding someone down; none of the other egos we're able to strain against his bonds as Mark was currently doing.

_And now, his grip on Mark was starting to break!_

”I'm losing strength holding him down!” Damien shouted. ”Wilford, in my bedroom in the basement, there is a vial in the top drawer of my nightstand. Bring it up!”

Over the screams of agony, Wilford’s eyes widened significantly before he nodded quickly, disappearing in a cloud of pink dust.

Damien turned back to Mark’s writhing form, gritting his teeth from the effort that it was taking to keep him still. He just needed to hold out a little while longer until Wilford brought the damn thing...

With a poof, Wilford was standing next to Damien with a small glass vial in his fist, sealed shut with a cork and a welded metal ring. Inside the vial was something quite extraordinary.

It was neither living nor dead, existing somewhere in the plane between these two states of existence. It had no mass, only restricted in its prison as it moved about like gas. Pure black in color, there was a white sheen in its center, the black most enveloping it. 

This was the last bit of energy that had come from the house, collected by Damien before it could be absorbed by someone else. 

If administered to someone with the energy already inside them, it would produce a boost in that person's abilities. Damien had been saving this last bit of energy for the right moment when he would eventually face down Mark the Actor. But what use would it be if he died because Mark died? 

Besides, it wasn't like he was going to be seeing the Actor again.

”Damien, are you sure?” Wilford asked uncertainly, making himself audible over the sounds. All the egos turned to face him as well; they were all aware of the purpose of the vial and who is was for.

Mark had stopped screaming, mouth agape as he hyperventilated, struggling to breathe in. A black fog similar to the one in the small vial was rising from his mouth and his eyes, moving to envelop his face.

”Yes!” Damien shouted. ”Uncork it!”

Wilford moved without further hesitation, snapping his fingers as the metal ring bent and snapped in half, falling to the ground. Already with the metal gone, the energy in the vial was pushing against the cork, forcing it upward. Wilford pointed the opening toward Damien before removing the cork entirely with a resounding *pop*.

The fog immediately latched onto Damien’s chest, disappearing into his body. Damien gasped at the newfound strength, eyes growing darker. With a feral growl, he pushed the energy into keeping Mark still.

With the help of the additional energy, Mark’s spazzing movements were limited to small jerking motions. Slowly, he started to breathe easier as the surrounding black fog re-entered his body. He started to slump, eyes closing shut before the YouTuber finally collapsed, falling on his back into the bed.

Everyone in the room was breathing heavily as Damien relinquished his bindings and Wilford snapped the handcuffs away. 

The Host walked up to Mark’s side, gently laying his hand on the man’s forehead. ”The change is complete,” he announced to the others. ”Mark is alive.”

Sighs of relief swept across the room, and Damien even let one escape him as well. Their collective moment of terror had thankfully passed.

Mark hadn't changed in appearance at all, still looking the same unlike the rest of the egos who had their looks altered to reflect their personalities and abilities. Damien considered this to be a good omen, and he stepped away to recover.

Wilford gently tapped on his shoulder, handing Damien the empty vial. His hand wrapped around it, encasing it with a firm fist. He'd reflect on it later, but for now, he felt confident that he had done the right thing.

”His body is recovering,” the Host advised the others. ”Let’s leave him alone for now and come back to check up on him later; I think we all deserve a break for pitching in to help. Thank you, everyone.”

Slowly, the egos dispersed from the room until Damien was left in the bedroom with Mark lying on the bed, now in peaceful slumber. He studied Mark for a second before following the Host, who had been the second-to-last one to leave the room.

Mark had achieved another impossible task: getting them all to work together without clashing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun, Dun, Dun!!! What power do you think Mark will develop?
> 
> BTW, It's currently 1:17 AM and I. Can't. SLEEP! :P
> 
> Also, more to come with a character previously mentioned...


	8. Excelsior!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise Cameo from a character that'll have a bigger role to play in Part 2!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided that Mark’s superpower is best reflected as an EMPATH!
> 
> Doing some research, I found that Empaths have a wide range of abilities, and I thought Mark would probably have these, since he’s VERY strong:
> 
> \- Clairaudience: the ability to not only feel emotions, but also "hear" the heightened thoughts associated with that specific emotion.
> 
> \- Clairempathy: the ability to sense emotions over great distances.
> 
> \- Clairvoyance: the ability to forge an emotional connection with another being and detect when the person is in danger.
> 
> \- Empathic Healing: the ability to heal emotional wounds. Healing physical wounds is somewhat uncommon, but Mark is able to do this.
> 
> \- Empathic Illusion Casting: creating illusions based on certain emotions.
> 
> \- Empathic Power Absorption: highly advanced Empaths can steal the powers of others for their own by using an associated emotion, leaving the victim powerless.
> 
> \- Empathic Power Randomization: powerful Empaths can gain random powers based on their mood and emotions (gaining Regenerative Healing Factor or Invulnerability when scared, or Enhanced Strength when angry).
> 
> \- Empathic Projection: the ability to project their own emotions onto others.
> 
> \- Lie Detection: empaths can sense when a person is lying to them, as lying can cause an irregularity in one's emotions. More skilled users can pick out the lie and find the truth.
> 
> \- Omnilingualism: the ability to speak, write, understand, and communicate in any language fluently.
> 
> \- Tactile Empathy - Empaths can sense, understand and/or manipulate the emotions of others through physical contact.
> 
> \- Techno-Empathy - Empaths can sense the emotions of machines and other technology.
> 
> \- Telempathy - Empath can not only sense others emotions, but they can also send their own emotions to others. Users can communicate with one another emotionally and if skilled enough send "echoes" of images back and forth.
> 
> Whew! That was a LOT of information I didn't know was a thing! I wanted Mark to be an Empath because I see him as a genuine person with a kind heart, and he’s a very emotional person.
> 
> On the other hand, here are some limitations and weaknesses! 😈  
> \- Frequent Headaches!  
> \- May not be able handle large amounts of emotions at once.  
> \- Might get taken over and act on those emotions.  
> \- Putting his friends first.
> 
> I'll admit, when I first started this, I didn't intend for powers to get involved, but I wanted a reason for Mark and the other egos to interact more, and having them help him with his powers seemed like an interesting topic.

Mark groaned blearily, opening his eyes slowly as he tried to focus his vision. When his sight was still blurry, he realized that he didn't have his glasses on, and sat up in his bed.

He immediately regretted that decision, raising a hand to clutch his forehead as a spike of pain flared up. With a groan, Mark reached over to his nightstand to feel around for his glasses; instead, his hand pushed the lamp and digital clock, both items crashing on the ground. Mark finally retrieved his glasses, putting them on and blinking through the throbbing pain in his head.

The clearer vision only made the headache worst; he groaned, lifting both hands to wrap around his head. Already halfway over the side of the bed, he lost balance when he raised his hands, falling over the edge and onto the carpeted floor below, shutting his eyes tightly. He was starting to panic, the sensation overwhelming his thoughts before it was replaced with worry and anxiety and fear...

"Mark?"

The shy, quiet voice of King piped up at the doorframe of the bedroom, and the animal linguist immediately moved to Mark's side, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong? Should I go and get Dr. Iplier? Or maybe the Host, since he's been leading us through this."

"Please," Mark gasped, "get someone." 

As King ran off quickly and shouted through the house, Mark latched his hands around his ears. The loud noises of the others talking and moving about the house were not helping the massive headache that Mark was suffering from. As the footsteps grew closer, Mark exhaled loudly through his mouth as if he had been punched in the stomach and the air had left his body - there were _so_ many voices in his head.

_Is he okay?_

_What the fuck?_

_What is he developing?_

**_HeY! HE's hEArinG eMoTIoNaL ThoUGts! mY EmOTioNAl tHOughTS!!!_**

As each thought passed through Mark's mind, the man was able to hear it clearly as if the person was talking to him directly. The only difference between these two situations was only that the words were resonating in his mind. Also, as each thought manifested in Mark's head, he felt anxiety, concern, curiousity, and then indignance; all in that order with the passing thoughts. He was feeling the emotions that were linked to each thought.

"He's an Empath!" Wilford squealed excitedly to the rest of the people in the room. "I've only come across one other Empath in my life; I saw her head explode - figuratively and _then_ literally!"

"Damn," Damien swore. He and the Host shared one look of uncertainty before Damien took decisive action. 

"Everyone: go downstairs and outside into the backyard and **_stay there._** Don't come back in until I tell you to, understand?" 

Dr. Iplier stood up immediately, leading Wilford by the man's shoulder while Bing wrapped a comforting arm around the quivering King's shoulder, all of them looking behind them to look at Mark with worry or interest. Google was about to leave when Damien held him back, closing the door before the android could leave. "Not you," he said to Google, "You're the only one of us who reflects the least emotion - a good thing, in this case. I might need your help."

The Host was cradling Mark's neck gently from behind, supporting the weight in his lap as Google and Damien approached quickly to Mark's side. "What do we need to do, Host?" Google asked objectively.

"I'm attempting to take some of the strain of the burden off of Mark's mind," the Host explained, pressing his thumbs firmly into the temples of Mark's head. "He's already extremely developed; probably because he's always been very in-tune with his emotions. He's still sensing the emotions and thoughts of the others from outside, albeit lessened in effect."

Damien narrowed his eyes. "Can you place a block to lessen the effects?"

The Host pursed his lips. "I could, but it would only be temporary. Over time, the power will slowly start to reappear. With the strength of Mark's capabilities, I do not doubt that the barrier would only hold for a few hours."

"Perhaps a few hours is all we need," Google spoke up, staring intently down at Mark. "After all, he must learn to cope with his abilities. Empathy is an extremely difficult power to master because the people who naturally acquire this ability do not have the time to settle and adapt to their powers; they are hit full-force with them. However, if Mark is given some time to slowly adapt to the power, to learn how to control it in small amounts when the barrier breaks, then he could live the rest of his life with the ability to control his ability."

Damien looked to the Host for his response, "Could it work? If Mark was allowed to develop his power in short amounts, would that help him to learn and live a normal life?"

"His life will never be _normal,"_ the Host refuted, "but - theoretically - if the power is readministered in small doses by placing the temporary barrier, then he may be able to master his power. If we want the best results, however, I believe that we should construct the barrier as strong as possible to give Mark enough time to learn."

"What do you suggest?" Google asked.

"I can place a barrier myself," the Host spoke clearly, "but we should also implement multiple barriers. Damien, I also want you to place a barrier in Mark's mind as well. I'll check the strength of the combined block, and depending on that, we may need to bring Wilford to place one of his own."

Damien hissed. "Do you want Mark to go insane?"

The Host frowned disapprovingly in Damien's direction. "Wilford is more adept than you believe; when he sets his mind to something, he is truly able to accomplish many great things. Besides, his barrier could prove to have the greatest impact - his energy is so irregular and confusing that the energy may have a harder time trying to break through it."

Google stood up quickly. "I will bring Wilford into the house and station him outside the room; just in case." The android strolled comfortably out of the room.

The Host let out a long-held breath, letting his hands fall off of Mark's head. "I've just finished placing the block. Damien, take over."

The dark entity took the Host's place, placing his hands in the same location as he entered Mark's mind.

Inside Mark's mind, Damien found himself in darkness, suspended midair. Turning around, he scanned the area around him, eyes focusing in on a small dim light in the distance that was slowly approaching him. As the light got closer, it became more defined, until Damien was now face-to-face with Mark. This image of Mark was simply his mental projection of himself in his mind, and he was now able to communicate with Damien without much pain. "Damien!" Mark exclaimed, greeting him happily. His form was ghostly in the darkness of his mind, a common sight in most people. Damien nodded shortly in his direction, returning the greeting.

"The Host should have just been here," he spoke to Mark, "Did you see where he was?"

Mark nodded. "He was over there," he said, pointing at something in the distance. 

In the blink of an eye, Damien and Mark had been moved from their location to the area that Mark had indicated with his hand. There was a white and hazy fog that formed a single wall, stretching for miles on either end, never coming to an end. Damien studied the block that the Host had put up; normally, the barrier would have been enough to suppress the powers of someone like the doctor or Bim for a day. However, the barrier was already starting to bulge outward toward Damien and Mark, the black cloud of energy on the other side pushing against it angrily. 

"I'm going to add a barrier of my own," Damien explained to Mark while staring up at the white wall. "Afterward, Wilford will come and he'll put up one of his own. Bring him here and let him do his work. If something doesn't feel right when he puts up his block, try and alert me somehow."

Mark huffed. "I don't think I'm in any condition to be able to do anything. I could blink three times, maybe. I just have to find a way to get my eyelids to open!" His mind apparition started opening his eyes widely and shutting them tightly in a repeated pattern, not accomplishing anything.

Ignoring him to dedicate all his attention to his task, Damien raised his hands toward the wall. Shadows evaporated from his body, swirling up in the air lazily as they began to solidify against the white block of the Host. Slowly, the shadows layered themselves from the ground up, materializing into a solid black wall along the entire length of the Host's barrier, which was still visible slightly through the shadow barrier of Damien. He snapped his fingers, and chains wrapped around it in the hope that they would keep the barrier intact.

Mark drew in a sharp breath, staring up at the imposing wall. "Thank you for doing this," he spoke to Damien, a smile on his face. Damien's chest constricted; even now, in the extreme pain that the man was experiencing, Mark was still expressing his gratefulness for something that should never have happened to him, if the egos hadn't come in the first place.

"Well, it's the least we can do," Damien said shortly, nodding once in acknowledgment. "I'm going to leave, now. Wilford will join you, **be careful.** "

Damien blinked and found himself back in the material world and his own body again. He looked over to the Host, "I put up my barricade. Where's Wilford?"

"Right here!" the eccentric man announced loudly, strutting in casually as if nothing was wrong. Damien wrinkled his nose with distaste at the other's mannerisms, yet moved aside to allow Wilford the ability to enter Mark's mind and construct his barrier.

Wilford jumped up upon seeing his new surroundings. He had managed to put himself right up against the wall, and he viewed the combined barriers with interest. "Ugh," he groaned, "Damien, Damien, Damien. What is it with your affinity for BLACK?! It's disgusting!"

"It is kind of bleak."

Wilford turned around slowly, smiling invitingly at the sight of Mark's projection. "Markimoo! How are you holding up?"

"The pain is starting to subside," Mark admitted. "I was really scared when the pain didn't go away. Thanks for helping me out, Wil."

Wilford shifted slightly, not accustomed to receiving thanks of any form. "Yeah... whatever. You just step back and let ol' Wilford Warfstache work his magic!"

He turned to fully face the barrier, a rare look of seriousness crossing his face as he lifted his right hand and snapped once. A wave of sparkly, glittery pink dust enveloped the barriers formed by the other two egos until it solidified, revealing a pink and white cushioned wall with little hearts and bears stitched onto it in patterned squares - looking like a patchwork quilt.

"There! All done," Wilford declared, a goofy smile overtaking his face once again. The wall seemed to hold, and the energy contained within the barriers seemed to quiet down at the presence of these barriers. 

Before Wilford could say anything to Mark, he was forced out of his mind, joining the Host and Damien in Mark's bedroom as the YouTuber slowly started to stir. Mark's eyes snapped open, and he sat upright quickly.

"Easy," the Host cautioned, "You were unconscious for the majority of the day yesterday and half of today. Your body needs time to recuperate."

Mark shook off the Host's hold on his shoulder. "Shit! I forgot to upload the video for yesterday, and I haven't even recorded the video for today!"

Google, who had been waiting outside the bedroom, entered cautiously. "Do not worry, Mark. I examined your previous posts on your social media accounts and formulated a post of my own, saying how you were going to be taking a short break after making the 'Who Killed Markiplier' Project."

"... That doesn't really instill the greatest confidence, but thanks," Mark said, looking at the others. "What happened? Why am I in so much pain?"

"Your power manifested in the abilities of an Empath," Damien explained. "It's an incredibly difficult ability to master and control - much like emotions. Being around so many people overwhelmed your senses, and so you were experiencing a very bad headache."

"That's an understatement," the Host interjected. "With the barriers, you won't feel anything at all. But they're only temporary; our hope is that the barriers will start to crack, and your powers will come in at a slower rate, thus giving you time to adjust to them. We will try to help you to the best of our abilities, but keep in mind that we have no experience with this form of power."

"Empaths aren't known to live for a long time," Damien explained. "Their powers manifest the same way that yours did; full-fledged and hitting them like a train. Most of them kill themselves because they can't withhold the strain; others lose their minds from experiencing so many emotions. But they weren't given the luxury that you have - receiving it in short amounts."

Mark took in a shaky breath. "Okay. I understand; I'll work with you guys to get myself through this."

The Host placed his hand on Mark's back, rubbing his back in small soothing circles. "You must be hungry; let's go downstairs and get you something to eat."

* * *

The sight of watching a man eat for the first time after 24-plus hours is more entertaining than you may think.

"Slow down!" King exclaimed nervously, "You're going to choke!"

"Nur mm na!" Mark protested through a mouth full of syrup-drizzled pancakes, only making Bim laugh harder.

Mark continued to wolf down pancake after pancake, stopping occasionally in his feast to take a sip from his drink while the other egos watched him eat with apprehension and interest. "I never thought that anyone could eat that quickly without dying," Dr. Iplier whispered loudly, which only sparked an argument (Wilford) over the limits of which a human could devour food.

Damien had turned his attention away from the others and Mark for a while, looking out the glass sliding door that led into the backyard. Outside, the emerald grass sparkled under the intensity of the light while Chica trampled over the ground, somewhat ruining the serene landscape. As Damien stared outside, his attention shifted when he caught movement from the corner of his eye, and he stared directly at a neighboring window leading to the very back of the house, nearby the storage shed. 

The dark entity stood up slowly, not taking his eyes off of the figure waving at him for a single second. "I'll be back," Damien said to the others, walking out the back door and stepping outside, the others not paying him much attention as they were focused on their own tasks.

Damien walked briskly through the yard, reaching the storage shed where the other man was. He was slightly shorter than Damien, with a lankier build. He wore black clothing: a blank black tee and long black jeans with holes ripped into them. He had razor-sharp teeth like knives, fully on display as he grinned eerily. He never seemed to stand still in one place, and he held in his hand a single knife, which he twirled absentmindedly.

"Having fun?" the man asked jeeringly.

"That is none of your concern," Damien snapped, unsettled by the fact that the man was there. "How are you even here?"

The man over-exaggerated, a fake look of hurt on his face as he placed his hand flat over his chest. "Oh, I'm hurt, Dark. Did you not miss me?"

"You're a menace," Damien retorted, "I would prefer it if you fucked off back to whatever hole of hell you crawled out of. Why are you talking to me?"

"This world is amazin', isn't it?" the man asked, deflecting from the question temporarily, "It's astounding what our counterparts have accomplished with their lives. But, they're mortal. Weak. If we can take over their lives, we would be just as famous and powerful as them - think about it! Millions of people bowing down to you, listenin' to what you say. Think of the power, Dark! All we have to do is kill them, and take over their channels."

Damien scoffed at the idea. "You really think that you'll be able to hold onto your counterpart's fanbase? They admire **them,** not us. They idolize **them,** not us. You'll never keep them interested enough, especially with **your** personality."

The man glowered dangerously. "So, you're going to let them run free? What happened to you? What happened to your ambition, your hatred? Where's your fuckin' rage?!"

"Shut up, **glitch.** Don't talk about things that you don't understand as if you know," Damien growled. "You have NO idea the impact that our counterparts have on your existence."

The man's face contorted into a look of pure fury before he composed himself, his face adopting his sinister grin once more. "So, I take it that you won't help me. That's fine, _Damien._ Have fun being insignificant and powerless - that's what havin' a heart does, ya know." He paused, tilting his head to the side, showcasing the red line drawn across his neck. "You seem pretty attached to your human. Maerk, was it? Wouldn't it be a cryin' shame if something were to... happen to him?"

Damien snapped, seizing the figure by his simple plain black t-shirt and slamming him against the side of the storage shed. His appearance shifted, becoming less humanlike in appearance as his teeth turned into sharp needles and his eyes turned pitch black, the blue-and-red aura amplifying around his figure. 

**"If you even THINK of touching him,"** Damien snarled primally, his nails elongating into claws, **"my companions and I will do everything in our combined power to make your life a living hell; this, I PROMISE you."**

The man sneered, not afraid by Damien's display of power. "We'll see about that," he chuckled sinisterly, his right eye glowing green maliciously, and in the blink of an eye, he disappeared, leaving Damien behind holding onto thin air and the lingering square pixels in the place where the man had been.

"Fuck," Damien muttered, reverting back to his human form. He adjusted his tie and fixed his appearance before walking back to join the others, a new worry pressing on his mind.


	9. How to Train Your Empath

When Damien had reentered the house after his talk with the other evil entity, he immediately joined the others at the dining table where Mark had finished eating and recuperating his strength.

How had Antisepticeye, of all people, managed to be brought over into their world? Damien was extremely concerned for Mark's safety, now. He knew that although he was powerful and the glitch bitch was outnumbered, Anti was still a force to be reckoned with. He could glitch into Mark's room in the dead of night and kidnap him, leaving him free to do whatever twisted things he wanted to do with him.

As Damien got closer to the sounds of joyful laughter, he realized that the egos’ attention was focused on Mark, who was doing impressions of them. Damien leaned against the closest wall, watching in slight amusement as the corner of his mouth tilted upward slightly, yet still not forgetting the threat that Anti now posed.

” _ **WhY** **DoN’t wE JUsT haVe sOme FUn?**_ ”

”Holy shit, that's fucking creepy,” Bim exclaimed, leaning back in his chair to put some distance between himself and Mark, who had just done a spot-on impression of Wilford’s voice.

Mark shrugged, a playful grin on his face. ”It’s pretty funny seeing you react to me doing these. If I could, I'd make a whole YouTube series on introducing you guys and having you react to different things. That would be so cool; the fans would _love_ it.”

”I hate to bring the fun to a close,” the Host interrupted with his calm yet commanding voice, ”but we should start teaching you how to wield your powers, while we still have the chance. My barrier is starting to break, and you'll feel an increase in the energy levels within your body. I think it's best if you all left Damien and me to deal with this; we are the oldest and most knowledgeable.” Despite the protests, the other egos dispersed (albeit grumpily) after Damien repeated the order by snapping at them.

”They're getting rowdy,” Damien later complained to the Host and Mark as they went downstairs into the basement where the concrete walls would hopefully suppress any unwanted side effects. ”They aren't afraid of me, anymore.”

The Host chuckled lightly, a small smile on his face. ”We’ve all changed, Damien. You've become more compassionate while the others have gotten braver. These are both good things - even if it will become harder to get them to listen in the future.”

Mark, lingering behind the two egos as he followed them into the big central space of the basement, peered over Damien’s shoulder. ”I can feel the energy starting to escape, guys.”

”Then the time is just right,” the Host said, nodding toward Damien, who snapped his fingers. The furniture in the large space was moved aside, pushed up against the walls to leave a large space in the middle. The Host beckoned Mark to join the two of them in the center. ”Let us start,” he said encouragingly.

"I read a historical account of powers," the Host began, "and I remember taking a great interest in studying Empaths. While not many of them were able to control the inflow of emotions from the surrounding people, they were able to inform others on their abilities and what it was like to use them. Obviously, it will be different for us; you'll hopefully be the first Empath to live over the age of 35."

”The rest of us have been taught that the only way to stay in control of our abilities is to suppress our emotions,” the Host continued. ”For Empaths, the opposite is true. You need to let the emotions wash over you, yet discern your emotions from those of others around you. You must get accustomed to feeling overwhelmed, and over time, this burden will affect you less and less. This just comes with more and more exposure.”

”Sit down on the floor and close your eyes,” Damien instructed, ”and let your power wash over you. Feel it, shape it, and get to know it. As you do this, you'll start to pick up on the emotions of the people in this room. What are you feeling, Mark?”

”Apprehension,” Mark started, his eyes shut tight in concentration. ”Curiosity, confusion, and uncertainty. And then, kind of blurry, something... Pride, stress, anxiety...”

”Yes!” the Host exclaimed, moving in closer to Mark. ”These disconnected feelings are my and Damien’s emotions that you are feeling. Now, to close off and separate them, I want you to envision a wall or barrier in your mind. Shape it, construct it. No other Empath had the ability or time to do this before; this will allow you to have less difficulty interpreting the emotions of others in the future.”

"But won't this just disappear similar to how your barriers did?"

"No," Damien responded, "The barriers we constructed are marked by your mind as foreign - forged by someone who wasn't you. However, if you make your own barrier, it should hold indefinitely. Have you finished?"

”... Yes,” Mark said after a short amount of time, ”I finished making the barrier.”

Damien stepped forward, grasping Mark’s wrist as he attempted to enter his mind. Immediately, he was pushed away by an invisible force, and the impact was strong enough to send him reeling back several feet in the real world. ”It’s very powerful,” he assured the Host. ”If this doesn't help stem the flow of emotions, I don't know what else will.”

”You’re doing very well; picking this up very quickly,” the Host continued, ”Now, listen to me, Mark. This barrier acts as a filter for processing emotions. It will allow you to detect specific emotions from others, allowing you to hone in on one person at a time. I want you to try by focusing on me. What am I feeling?”

Mark frowned, still keeping his eyes shut. ”Pride for me, worry for the possibility that I may not be able to handle my powers, protectiveness for me, and the others. You’re thinking, ’I hope that Google isn't about to kill Bim,’ right now.”

The Host nodded excitedly. ”Yes! You're now starting to pick up on certain thoughts associated with my emotions. This is a higher-level skill; it's a good thing that we are mastering this quickly.”

Damien stepped forward, taking over the lesson. ”Eventually, you'll be able to manipulate this barrier so that you can shut out the inflow of others’ emotions or focus in on specific people. You will be able to feel the emotions and emotional thoughts of people from opposite sides of the world, but only if you've made an Empathic Connection with that person. After forging this bond, you will be able to pick up their emotions and also know when they are in danger." 

Mark's eyes snapped open, lighting up with interest. "Really? I've got a couple of friends - YouTubers - in Europe. Pewdiepie and Jacksepticeye. They're great people; maybe I could get them to help me practice?"

"You can't tell anyone else, Mark," the Host cautioned, holding back a smile at the excited state that Mark had been in, "First of all, they won't believe you. Second of all, if they do believe you, they'll likely spread the word around until the wrong people hear. Then, you'll be in extreme danger; we can only protect you from so much. There are worse things in the world than what was in the house, you know."

"But they're not like that!" Mark protested. "They're good people!"

While the Host was advising Mark on not telling his friends about his abilities, Damien was speculating over one of the names that Mark had mentioned earlier: Jacksepticeye. Odds were, this was the man that Anti was trying to kill. Damien had intentionally not revealed to the glitch that if any harm came to their Creators that it could get himself killed. 

Damien could still remember the day when he had first met the other entity. It had just been him, Wilford, and the Host in the once-abandoned mansion when Anti had appeared. Damien had graciously taken him in, offering him a place to stay and rest while he went out during the day, doing whatever he needed to do. Damien had never minded what Anti was doing, not bothering to bring himself to care about the copious amounts of blood on his skin when he came back home at night.

It was only until the Host had managed to stop narrating for one precious moment - alerting Damien that Anti was killing innocents - that Damien confronted the other man. Damien was only concerned with killing Mark; he was not interested in nor supportive of unnecessary killing. He and Anti had a violent spat over what was right and what was wrong - in a fit of rage, Damien had taken a kitchen knife and lunged at Anti, pinning him to the ground.

In the struggle, with Anti thrashing about, the knife had cut into the glitch's throat before the being disappeared, leaving behind residual pixels in his wake. 

When Damien snapped out of his flashback, he realized that the Host was just finishing detailing the risks involved with Mark revealing his powers, and the YouTuber crossed his arms and pouted childishly. "Fine," he sighed reluctantly, "I won't tell them."

As soon as he had uttered the words, the ground around Mark's feet started to decrease in temperature as ice enveloped his feet and then slowly climb up his legs. He yelped at the sight, Damien moving quickly to help him. Using a projection of shadow, the ice was quickly broken before it could continue to reach Mark's waist.

"Your emotions manifest in other powers," the Host sighed wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I forgot about this one, I'll admit."

Mark frowned, "Wait, so if I play a rage game, then I'll have to try and keep calm, or else my head will explode in flames?"

"No," Damien said with an exasperated tone, "but you'll probably have flames erupt from your fingertips. Take the ice, for instance. You were upset and stubborn, which was fine. It was until you started acting frigidly cold and distant toward the Host when the ice manifested. So, you can still get angry. It's only when your emotions reach the point when they can be described as 'fiery' or 'explosive' when these additional powers manifest."

"Okay," Mark acknowledged, nodding slowly, "besides, if I do explode in a video game, I can just pretend like I made a really good edit to cover it up."

The Host took Damien's wrist, leading him closer to Mark. "I want you to hold Damien's wrist and close your eyes," he instructed, "You can project your emotions onto other people, with the addition of feeling others' emotions. I want you to read his emotions, and then identify yours. Then, I'm going to ask you to do something more advanced - you're going to push your emotions onto Damien. Create a visual representation to make it easier. Focus on one emotion you want to give to Damien, and then force it out of your body and into him."

" _Not_ anything sappy," Damien growled.

"Umm... sure," Mark said. He did as he was instructed, gripping tightly onto Damien's hand. "I'm getting a sense of protectiveness," Mark started, "and underlying rage. He's also slightly scared of something... I'm feeling excited, nervous, and courage."

"See how easier it is to identify yours from theirs?" the Host was saying, "This will only get simpler to accomplish over time. Now, try and give one of your emotions to Damien."

Damien stood there, looking over at the Host with a bored expression on his face. The Host shook his head disapprovingly, and Damien huffed quietly, fiddling with the cufflink of his suit until he felt Mark's presence pressing firmly in his mind.

_Hey there!_

Suddenly, Damien felt a surge of energy rush through him, and he gasped from the sudden sensation. At that moment, he felt like he could accomplish _anything._ He envisioned finally catching up to the Actor and forcing him to atone for his sins. He pictured himself standing over a beaten and bruised Anti with Mark safe behind him. 

Then, the feeling was gone. "I settled on courage," Mark explained to the other two in the room. "Did it work?"

Damien's Adam apple bobbed up and down as he struggled to calm himself from the euphoric rush that he had just experienced. "Yes," he said, "You did a lot better than I was expecting."

Mark had actually perfected the motion; it was no wonder that the energy had chosen this power for Mark - he was learning quickly and mastering most of these on the first try. Then, Mark tilted his head curiously. "Wait! I'm picking up something else... Guilt. Guilt? More like survivor's guilt."

"That's enough," Damien snapped, trying to pull his hand back to stop the connection. But in doing so, he almost dislocated his wrist - Mark's grip was iron-strong. It seemed that the courage he had passed onto Damien had also given Mark super-strength. Mark didn't say anything, but Damien could still feel him pressing around in his mind. "What are you doing?" Damien growled.

Then, Mark's eyes snapped open and he let go of Damien. The dark entity snatched his hand back and closer to himself, taking an uncertain step backward. "What did you do, Mark?" the Host asked softly as he moved toward Damien warily.

"... I made the pain go away," Mark said after a long pause, staring up from the ground to meet Damien's face. "I made the guilt go away."

The Host's head turned quickly to examine Damien. "Did he?" 

Damien nodded slowly. "He didn't take it away completely," he explained, "I can still feel it. It's just... muffled. It's not constantly pressing on my mind."

Slowly, a grin formed on Mark's face. "Wow... I can heal emotional trauma? That's amazing! I have the power to heal the world!"

The Host turned to study Mark. "Are you tired?" After receiving an uttered "no," the Host continued, "Damien's guilt and resulting anger was a very strong emotion of his. The fact that you were able to so easily and quickly diminish it to such a degree is..." He and Damien shared a look. "It's astonishing that the effort didn't make you pass out immediately."

Mark got back onto his feet easily, standing before them. "Well, I don't feel tired at all!" he exclaimed, his boundless energy not gone. "I feel great!" As he said this, he threw his arms open to demonstrate the extent to which he was feeling...

... and then shadows materialized in a furious black haze around him.

Mark squawked in surprise, waving his arms as if he could shake the shadows off of him. The shadows, responding to Mark's gestures, flew about the room wildly, as Damien and the Host had to dodge to the sides of the room to avoid a collision. "Mark! Calm down!" Damien shouted after making his third lunge to avoid getting hit, and the shadows promptly disappeared. The Host was lying on his back, panting as he recovered his breath while Damien leaned over, resting his hands on his knees.

"... Sorry..." Mark winced, walking over to the Host to help him up. The Host took his hand graciously, nodding once. "It's fine. You're learning."

"What the hell was that?" Damien asked. "I've never seen an Empath do that before."

"Some extremely developed and powerful Empaths in ancient times were able to absorb the abilities of other people by coming into contact with them," the Host spoke through a slightly wheezing breath, "Simply by touching them, they could then utilize the person's abilities. If they wanted to, they could also take away their powers indefinitely."

"So I was able to use Damien's abilities?" Mark questioned. "I always wondered what it would be like to manipulate shadows. Although... I probably shouldn't do that again."

"It can be a downfall for an Empath," the Host agreed, fixing his ruffled appearance. "Sometimes, the Empath does not know how to properly utilize the power, and it becomes a hindrance."

"He didn't have a problem with mine," Damien argued. "Sure, he was waving his arms around like an idiot, but if he was inexperienced, then the shadows would just be a black unfocused fog. His shadows had a solid form, and he was _directing_ them. He just panicked, is all. If he was able to wrestle a power as complex as mine..."

"It's best not to dwell too long on this," the Host cut him off. "We should focus solely on Mark's abilities, and then address these issues when they come up in the future."

"My barrier has just collapsed," Damien announced. "I felt it crumble sometime while we were avoiding Mark's shadows."

"Then all the more reason to focus on the important things," the Host said firmly, turning back to Mark. "These next things will be somewhat less difficult to master, and you will probably use them unconsciously."

"Oh," Mark interrupted, "Kind of like a passive." At their questioning gazes, Mark coughed awkwardly. "I mean... It's a video game term."

"Your abilities also apply to machinery that is made sentient," the Host continued, skipping over Mark's comment. "There's not much added to this; in this sense, you'll be able to feel Google's and Bing's emotions, as well as any other sentient programming - but I don't believe your world has advanced to that level."

"Well, there's Siri and Alexa, I guess," Mark said slowly, "but you're right; we're not advanced enough."

The Host sighed tiredly before continuing. "You will also be able to understand what people are saying, regardless of what language they are speaking in. You can likewise communicate with them in this same language, and also write in other languages. Another ability that is common across Empaths is the ability to detect lies. You'll be able to identify whenever a person is lying to you or not."

Mark nodded slowly. "Okay. This is a lot."

The Host placed his hand on Mark's shoulder comfortingly. "I know. It'll take some time getting used to this, but we've accomplished the most important thing we needed to do - make your barrier. It'll keep you from going crazy under the feeling of others' emotions. Take these last few hours before Wilford's wall breaks to prepare yourself for when you have to deal with this yourself."

Mark blinked. "Wait; that's it? No other training, no other practice?"

Damien answered this time, adjusting his tie - a familiar habit of his, "Yes. We've been through all aspects of your abilities, or at least, the ones that were recorded. The Host believes that the account for Empaths is accurate and complete, if not fully finished. All that you need now is exposure and practice."

"What about that Empathic Connection?" Mark asked, desperate to make sure that nothing was left untouched. "How do I do that?"

"You've already created one with Damien," the Host briefly explained, "It was made when you discovered the core emotion that built up Damien's character - his guilt. After you locate a person's core emotion, you'll be able to easily feel their emotions, no matter where they are. This is what the Connection does."

"You'll be fine," Damien assured him as they walked together back upstairs to join the others. "Just get some rest."

* * *

Mark had sluggishly moved up the staircase to his bedroom, the use of his powers only now affecting his energy. Still, the man was not as exhausted or worn out as the Host was expecting, which was both a positive and terrifying prospect - if he was able to endure what had just transpired, then how far could he go?

"Still," Damien thought to himself as he watched the retreating form of Mark going up the steps, "at least his intentions are good."

Earlier, Mark had been showing off to the others his newfound abilities, reading their emotions and associated thoughts. He had even formed another Empathic Connection with King - Damien wasn't sure if he was the best subject, especially since King was the most skittish and emotional of the group, but Mark had seemed fine and unaffected by the additional bond. 

Damien was still unsettled by the effect of Mark's power lingering in him - the ever-present guilt was subsided. It had been such a big part of Damien that he had wallowed in it and let it define himself. Guilt over not being able to help the others in the mansion when the Actor had called them all there and guilt over leaving Celine in the dark recesses of Dark's mind. Having it taken away from him - and so easily, as well - left Damien in a state of confusion.

But, he had other things on his mind that were more important.

"Everyone, sit down," he ordered firmly, taking his seat at the end of the table as the other egos followed his example. "I saw Anti today."

"Are you sure?" the Host asked warily. "It was the one we knew, not some other version of him?"

"He came up to me and addressed me by my name," Damien replied, hands clenching into fists as he started to recount his talk with the other evil entity, not bothering to obstruct any details. The other egos were well aware of Anti - they had been told by someone when they were taken into the mansion to _not_ trust him. 

"You should've let me kill him," Wilford complained, twirling a pocket knife. "I would have gutted him, and we wouldn't be dealing with this problem."

"Would've, could've, should've," Bing waved the madman off, "None of it matters; the only thing we should be asking ourselves is, 'What now?'"

"I believe that we should first most inform Mark of the danger on his life," Google added his voice to the discussion. "He isn't weak and helpless anymore. If he is made aware of Anti and the danger he is in, then a surprise attack won't affect him as much. I calculate a twenty percent increase in his survivability if he is warned ahead of time."

"I can't believe I'm about to say this," Bim sighed, "but the talking robot is actually making some sense, for once. Besides, Anti doesn't know that Mark is an Empath; the tables _could_ be turned if he launches an attack. How is his control?"

"He is handling the stress _extremely_ well," the Host informed the others, "My barrier, as well as Damien's, have collapsed - only Wilford's remains. He is extraordinarily strong, especially as an Empath. Considering this, I have confidence that Mark will easily conquer his power after a few more days with more exposure. He'll be a force to be reckoned with, for sure."

"Oh, my wall broke _hours_ ago," Wilford said flippantly while stacking bullets from his gun. "It turns out that making a wall out of cotton candy doesn't hold as well as steel - who would have guessed?"

"What?!" King squeaked indignantly and speaking in a high-pitched voice, "Did you _really_ do that? Wilford; everyone knows that cotton candy is flimsy as _fuck!"_

The other egos stared at the usually-quiet King with wide eyes before he realized that they were all looking at him. Blushing, he hid his face in his hands from embarrassment, returning to his shy nature.

"Anyway," Dr. Iplier said after the awkward lapse in their conversation, "I had a chance to monitor Mark's mental status. Seeing that all protective barriers have been removed, he is dealing exceptionally well - better than we did, that's for sure. His barrier is extremely restrictive; it will prove effective at filtering emotions and could very well protect him from telepaths as well."

Damien sighed, standing up slowly as the chair slid back against the hardwood floor. "It's decided, then. We'll let Mark rest, for now. First thing in the morning tomorrow, we'll tell him about Anti. I want everyone in this room to be on high alert; if you see a suspicious figure outside the house at any time, let the rest of us know. We're weak when we're apart, but together, we're unstoppable. Anti will not be able to get to Mark at all if we work together. And Wilford," Damien said, glaring menacingly at the pink-mustached man before he left the room, "take this _seriously."_

"I can't believe you," Bim hissed after Damien had disappeared. "A cotton candy wall? Really?!"

"Well, I will have to admit," Wilford said flippantly, "it did look delicious."

The room was quiet, save for a quiet cough from the Host as he tried to stifle a snort before he got up and slowly uttered a "good night." Bing face-palmed himself, shaking his head in exasperation before he stood up and left as well.

"What?!" Wilford shouted, throwing his arms in the air after noticing the glares he was receiving from the others still in the room.

"You are unbelievable," Dr. Iplier said, crossing his arms. "I mean, come on, Wilford! A cotton candy wall? Do you have any idea of how UNHEALTHY that is?!"

The highlight of that moment was when Google snorted at the doctor's comment.


	10. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did you already forget about me? 
> 
> Ȋ̷͕͈͓͕̜̝̘̮̫͋ͬ̉ͫ͞ͅ'̫̞̖͍̪̪ͤ͌͞m̱̝̰͎̺͔͇̮̍̄ͨ͝ ͖̬̩ͤͯͭ̈͡s̵̼̤̳̙̺͛t̶̹͕̙͚̉̿͐i̜̹ͤ́͟l̶̜̜̟͓̑ͧ͋̇lͯ͏̼̱̰ ͉̘̇ͦͥ͐͟h̨͎̥̻̻̥͇̽̽̓ͅe̢̦̰̮ͤͥr̶̤̼̲͍͇̟̻ͪͫͪé͍̲ͫ͂ͩ͟.̷̳͔̖̻͙̳̺̻̓.̥̙̝ͦͤ͢.̛̦͇̐̾̇

It was thundering.

Pouring would not be an adept word to describe the weather - the rain was falling at a rapid pace such that your sight would be marred looking just one foot in front of yourself. In the city, the streets were already flooded as the sounds of cars honking noisily seemed to overcome the noises of the storm.

That is, right until tendrils of white lightning reached down to the earth before the spectacle was followed by the resounding crack of the thunder.

The vibration of the intense noise made the windowpanes on the city's skyscrapers quake, bending to such an extreme that it appeared like they would shatter into millions of tiny pieces and fall to the ground, raining on the civilians walking through the streets below. Perhaps the pieces would be larger and have more jagged edges, raining down on the people like bullets being fired from the end of a gun as they were unable to save themselves.

One figure took extreme pleasure in conjuring up this image.

He was shorter than your average human, but don't let that confuse yourself; this man is a representation of one half of evil. The evil that is outright and right-in-your-face, no shame in trying to hide it. This is the evil reflected in your serial killers and murderers who enjoyed killing, finding immense pleasure in the task. 

This man, adorned in a black hoodie, walked through the crowds of people with his hood drawn over his face as to not draw any attention to himself. He paid no attention to them, just as they did, his mind focused on other things. 

His hands were tucked in the kangaroo pocket of the hoodie, feeling the business card that had been given to him by another person on a chance encounter. Nothing was explained; the mystery contractor had simply approached Anti as he was walking through the streets of the city, pulling him aside roughly before he held out the card. _I've heard that you've been having some issues with a counterpart of yours. I have the same problem. Meet me here tomorrow if you want to talk._ He was usually the one to contract someone else underneath him, but now, he was on the other side of this business deal. 

H̊̒͗҉̺̬̹̙̗e͗͏͎̜͕̟͓̖͎ ͙͖̙ͨ̽ͬ̚͡ḍ̷͍̪̤͎̻̩ͮ̃î̙̟͍̉̎ͬ́ḏ͙͚͙̠͂̊͗͞ͅn̡͍͖̪͖͙̰̟͔͖̥͚̍̽͑̇͜'̢͚̭͚̙ͬ̏ͅt̴͈̗̟͍̪̫̙̀ ̹̗̆͐̈͢l͉̼̖̮̦͚ͫ̀i̧̫̬̗̫͈͓͙͛̄ḱ͎͎̺̱̑ͮ̀̚ȩ̹͕̖͉̖̱ͭ ̨̜͉͆͒͑ĩ̢̥͚̭̖͔̮̭t̡͇̫͈͔͉͙̥͙̿̑ͮ͑

The figure squared his shoulders determinedly as he made his way to the agreed-upon destination. While he normally would have no problem erupting in fury over being nothing more than a puppet to another's devices, there was something in the other's eyes that made him pause. If he was the representation of the bold and loud evil, demanding attention, his contractor was the representation of the other half of evil: the quiet, cold, and calculating evil that is reflected in the minds of psychopathic killers and charismatic but merciless murderers.

He walked into an upscale bar, looking slightly out-of-place in the established property when compared to the bar's inhabitants. Others were adorned in black suits with clean slacks and fancy trinkets wrapped around their wrists or fingers.

The man was stopped in his tracks by a large bouncer. "Hey, man; you can't be in here."

"He's with me," a second smooth baritone voice sounded out. 

This newcomer stepped forward. He was dressed in a suit and tie like the others, but that was there the similarities ended. His suit was more expensive and fancy - tailored professionally for himself. His suit was a dark royal red, not reaching maroon entirely, adorned with a black bowtie and a white flower pinned to his chest. He would have been extremely handsome, had it not been for his eyes, which didn't reflect his smile at all. They were dark and black, hard as diamonds, and as cold as ice. The bouncer didn't seem to notice, nodding once and returning to his position outside the establishment.

The hoodied figure pulled the tip of the knife back up his sleeve, hiding it from view as he didn't need it anymore.

"Welcome!" the man in the suit exclaimed joyfully as he clapped the other on the back, leading into the back of the bar toward a secluded and private drinking room. "I've rented this out for us," he explained. "You're welcome to be as free as you wish, Antisepticeye."

Drawing the hood back, Anti sneered at the mysterious man. "Well, you wanted me, so here I am. What do you want?"

"Sit down, please," the man gestured toward the cushioned seats against the wall in the corner. Anti cautiously joined the man in the back, sitting across from him as he finally started his long-awaited explanation.

"I've seen what my counterpart has accomplished," the man started, pouring champagne into two slim glasses, "and it is _interesting._ To have millions of people under your control is an extremely appealing prospect, I must admit. Sound familiar?" he asked, holding out one filled glass toward Anti's direction.

The glitch took the glass, wrapping his fingers tightly around the body of the glass. "You've nailed it," he replied, eyes narrowing. "My counterpart is pathetic. His name is Séan, but he insists on calling himself _Jack._ Everything about him disgusts me to no end." Anti spat.

The man in the suit sighed, leaning back as he took a sip. "I feel the same about my counterpart. I caught a glimpse of him after appearing on this Earth. He is _incredibly_ stupid and incompetent. I could do so. Much. Better," he said, emphasizing each word. His face darkened, eyes narrowing into slits.

Anti shifted uncomfortably, eyeing the other man warily. "What do we have to do?"

"We have to be patient," the man in the suit replied, taking another drink, "and wait for the right moment. There is an event coming soon, in three weeks; a convention called PAX. Your counterpart and mine will be at the same place - a perfect time to strike. It'll be in an extremely public place - our other egos will have to be reclusive in their presence, thus providing us with easier access."

The glass in Anti's hand started to fracture as he thought of the other egos residing in Ireland with Séan, an unpleasant snarl etched on his face.

"Of course, the egos will notice the changes," the man continued, "so we'll have to dispose of them as well. We should act together - help me kill off Mark first, and I'll help you kill Séan. Then, the egos will be so disorganized and confused that we can easily kill them, leaving us free to take over their channels. Think of the power, the glory!"

Anti already could. He could imagine the influence he would eventually hold over his viewers, providing him with supple and ignorant subjects to manipulate at his will. Séan's channel, with its access and influence through the Internet, would provide the glitch with the perfect opportunity to corrupt the fans.

And why stop there?

"I'll be ready," Anti promised, his right green eye glowing up ominously. "They won't stand a chance. What am I supposed to call you?"

The man grinned lazily, his eyes never growing any warmer at all. "My name is also Mark, but please, call me The Actor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh! The Actor is here and has teamed up with Anti! 
> 
> Mark and the egos better watch out...


	11. Danger Over the Horizon

Mark woke up the next morning with a rare sense of refreshment.

He got up easily, turning off the buzzing clock as he prepared himself for the day. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this energetic in the morning - taking a break from videos must have helped. 

Taking advantage of the burst in energy, he walked downstairs and walked into the kitchen where Chica's bed was. The pup was wide awake, chewing noisily on a toy as her big round eyes looked up at Mark. The YouTuber grinned happily, holding up the leash he had brought with him. "Good morning, Chica! Wanna go on a walk?"

 _It's about damn time,_ a feminine voice resounded in Mark's head.

He jolted back, his back hitting the kitchen counter in shock. "Did you... did you just say, 'It's about damn time'?"

Chica let out a breath of air, rolling onto her back as her tongue hung out of her mouth. _Who else would it be, idiot? Let me out; I need to poo._

Mark choked on air, shaking his head wildly. "Okay, Mark. This is fine; you can just understand dog-speak, is all." He shakily attached the end of the leash into Chica's collar before leading her to the front door, grabbing several disposal bags on the way out.

His mind was still whirling from his new discovery - he could talk to animals. When the Host had told Mark that he would be able to understand any language, it didn't cross his mind to consider that animals also had their own languages as well. 

"I'm still waiting for the part when I wake up and realize that all of this is a mass hallucination from drinking too much," Mark muttered under his breath, thinking back to his Drunk Minecraft series. "At least in that aspect, I'd still be able to drink..."

_I'm done, human._

Mark looked at Chica, who was walking over to him. He picked up Chica's waste, throwing it in the garbage can as he gently pulled on Chica's leash. "Let's go," he encouraged, no longer able to talk in the high-pitch baby speak tone anymore. 

Chica led the way through the neighborhood, taking their usual route on the sidewalks as Mark reflected on the past events involving the egos. It had been such a wild rollercoaster of events that had culminated in him gaining superpowers - not even he could see that happening. The corners of his mouth turned down as he thought about the egos and his powers. He would have to live a lie for the rest of his life; not being able to tell his fans about the egos or his abilities. Could he even bring himself to lie to his friends? The thought terrified him - as Tyler had pointed out before, Mark was a _horrible_ liar. Would he even be able to keep up the farce that nothing had changed, especially with PAX coming so soon?

*CLUNK*

"Aw, shit!" Mark groaned, raising his free hand to rub gently at the center of his forehead. In all his speculation, he had forgotten to pay attention to his surroundings and had walked into a lamppost. He looked down at Chica, who seemed unimpressed and judgemental with her eyes. Mark probably wouldn't have been able to pick this up in the past, but he was a different person now.

"... Shut up," Mark muttered under his breath, moving forward again as Chica pulled ahead of him.

* * *

By the time Mark had finished walking Chica and re-entered the house, the other egos were slowly starting to wake up.

Damien was sitting at the kitchen countertop on a barstool, staring at his clasped hands on the flat surface. His head snapped up at the sound of the door opening, moving quickly toward Mark who was starting to shut the door. "Where were you?" he demanded.

Mark blinked owlishly, clearly not intending to be ambushed the moment he entered his house. "Uh... I was walking Chica. Why?"

Damien sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You can't go out alone anymore," he stated shortly, walking away.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Why the hell not?" Mark asked, frowning in confusion as he followed after the ego.

"I'll explain soon," Damien said shortly, walking through the kitchen and opening the fridge. "Crack these eggs." He thrust the carton into Mark's arms and the YouTuber stumbled backward from the force. "Jesus-!"

As breakfast was being made, the other started to wake and seat themselves at the dining table. King had the polite courtesy to set the utensils for the others as they waited for their food, Wilford spinning a grand story about the time that he had almost been killed with a shit ton of slime.

Eventually, Mark and Damien joined the others as they started to eat breakfast together. Mark tore off a piece of toast as he looked in Damien's direction. "Why can't I go outside alone?"

Immediately, all actions at the table came to an abrupt halt. The Host, who had raised his drinking glass to his mouth, placed it down gently. Dr. Iplier had been less fortunate, choking on his drink as he coughed violently. Bim paused in dragging his fork to cut the eggs, placing the utensil down on his plate, while King had stopped halfway in shoving a mouth full of food into his mouth. Google and Bing - not eating with the others - shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Only Wilford continued to eat away, most likely not hearing what Mark had said.

Damien pressed a napkin against his mouth before setting it down, meeting Mark's gaze. "Does the name, 'Antisepticeye', ring any bells?"

"Oh, yeah! That's Jack's fictional evil alter ego," Mark exclaimed, a smile forming on his face at the mention of his friend. "He's got a few other egos, too. Why?"

"Antisepticeye is real in our world," Damien explained, eyes darkening significantly, "I took him in to live at the mansion when it was only Wilford, the Host, and myself. I thought that he was just lost and confused, but I soon realized that he was killing innocent people - 'for fun,' as he said. We fought, I wounded him significantly and he fled. He's not to be trifled with."

"Damien discovered yesterday that Anti was pulled into our world," the Host expanded off of Damien's response, "They talked for a little bit before Anti hinted at killing you, Mark. He's extremely dangerous because he's so unpredictable - he lives for the thrill of the hunt and won't stop until he gets what he wants."

Mark swallowed, feeling his heart rise up into his throat. "... Is he like you? Does he have powers, too?"

"He's a computer glitch," Damien explained, folding his arms as he settled into a more comfortable position, "He can teleport into any place he wants, just as long as he knows what the place looks like. He can phase through material objects and travel through the Internet. He can also possess people."

"What do we do, then?" Mark asked hesitantly.

"Nothing," the Host said. "Anti doesn't know that you have any abilities; he only sees you as human. He'll underestimate you and get cocky, and then you'll be able to stay alive long enough for us to get help."

”So I'm the bait?” Mark asked indignantly. ”This never works out; especially for the person acting as the bait!!!”

”I understand your concern,” Google piped up, ”but this is the optimal course for us to take. I have analyzed other plans - this was the one that yielded the highest rate of overall success.”

”Mark,” Damien said in a surprisingly soft tone. ”I know that we are to blame for a lot of what has happened to you, but just as we've got you into this mess, trust us to get you out of it. Please,” he choked out the last part.

Mark had a conflicted expression on his face as he weighed his options. On one hand, his survival instincts were screaming at him to not put himself in danger, whilst the more level-headed side advised him that his egos probably knew more about Anti than he did, so he should listen to them.

”Okay,” Mark finally uttered after a long period of silence. ”I'll sit and wait, but that doesn't mean that I like this!”

”You have a panel coming up at PAX, right?” Bing questioned. ”He could, like, totally strike there.”

”We won't be able to stand nearby Mark all the time,” Bim added. ”Anti will be able to get close to him while we stay here, unable to do anything.”

”That is unless we _don't_ stay here!” Wilford exclaimed excitedly, raising his hand with a finger pointed in the air.

”Oh, no,” the Host muttered under his breath as King hid his face in his hands.

Damien’s eye twitched as he relived flashbacks of Wilford’s previous antics, Damien himself being an unfortunate accomplice and veteran.

”We’ll all go with Mark to the convention,” Wilford explained slowly as he moved his hands to animate his speech, ”but we won't be going with him into the building. Mark will rent out a hotel room for us to stay in; doesn't PAX give you your own room to stay in, anyway?”

”Not within the actual building,” Mark refuted, ”but there are some hotels within walking distance.”

Wilford snapped his fingers in Mark’s direction. ”So, we’ll all stay in the hotel. Mark has an Empath Connection with King; if he's in trouble, he can send King a little message, and then Damien and I will teleport to Mark’s location and protect him. C’mon, admit it; it's a foolproof plan, guys.”

”While no plan made can be deemed foolproof,” the Host spoke, ”I must admit that Wilford’s plan holds some strength. With us being so close to Mark’s location, we can be there to help him if Anti does show up. Since Anti doesn't know the inside of this house and therefore can not teleport inside, he’ll have to try to kill Mark when he goes outside and is in public.”

Damien shifted in his seat. ”He’ll also try and go after his counterpart from this world, Jacksepticeye. With both of them at the convention, it'll be perfect for Anti to act.”

Mark’s eyes widened. ”Jack? He's going after Jack, too? I've got to warn him!”

Dr. Iplier frowned with consideration. ”If Anti managed to find his way onto this world, then perhaps my dear comrade and partner Dr. Schneeplestein also made it through as well.”

”Do you have any means of contacting the doctor?” Damien asked.

”Unfortunately, no,” Dr. Iplier said. However, I do have an emergency contact card that Marvin gave to me; if I follow the instructions, then we can communicate through it. Perhaps the magician passed through as well.”

”If anybody crossed over, it would be that annoying know-it-all magician,” Bim said distastefully, sneering in contempt. 

The Host nodded in Dr. Iplier’s direction. ”Contact him immediately. Tell him about Anti and the plot for murder at PAX. It would be easier if we all grouped together, but having all of us in the same room would prove to be a mistake.”

Mark scanned the faces at the table. ”Why would it be a mistake?”

”Oh my God, remember the last time we all met in the mansion?” Bing cackled. ” I swear on my life, I've never seen Damien so fucking mad. He was ready to tear their heads off.”

”It's their fucking voices,” Damien growled, a dark look passing over his face. ”It’s higher than a chipmunk; I can't stand it.”

The Host crossed his arms wearing a similar expression. ”That Jackieboy Man is too loud,” he agreed.

King sighed, looking down at his hands folded in his lap. ”They’re all too chaotic and unruly while we’re more sophisticated and orderly. We don't match up at all. I like JJ and Chase, but I HATE how loud they all can get.”

Wilford sputtered indignantly. ”Jameson?! That man is a poor imitation of my AMAZING self, thank you very much.”

”Oh, come on, guys!” Mark exclaimed frustratingly. ”Jack is one of my best friends - please don't ruin our friendship! Besides; I guarantee that none of them are as loud as he can get.”

”We must put our differences aside,” Google announced to the group (even if he did have an uncomfortable look on his face). ”Only by working together will we ensure the survival of Mark and his friend, Jack.”

There was silence.

Bim sighed loudly. ”Ugh. FINE. Time to find some earplugs.”

”How do you even know Jack’s egos, anyway?” Mark questioned. ”They lived in your world, too?”

”Yes,” Damien replied. ”We met them when they came to us individually, scared and afraid. When Anti was turned away from the mansion, he went out to kill people before he stumbled across others who looked like him - the rest of Jack’s egos. They came to my place in search of sanctuary. Over time, our differences caused us to clash, and by the time they left, there were enough of them to put up a fight against Anti together if he decided to attack any single one of them. They left the mansion together.”

”One last thing,” Mark spoke, ”Do we tell Jack?”

”I feel as though this is a question best left for his egos to decide,” the Host answered. ”We don't know for certain if the egos have been spending time around Jack - they could have just been watching him from afar. Doctor, you should confirm this with Marvin when you talk to him.”

”Sorry, one final thing - for real, this time,” Mark said to all of them, ”I need to get you all phones so that we can stay in touch. Also, I’ll get some clothes. And earplugs. And whatever you guys need; just get a list to me by the end of today, and I'll head out tomorrow.”

”With me,” Damien added quickly.

Mark huffed. ”Yes, fine. How are we even going to go out together? What if we’re seen together?”

”I'll stay in the car,” Damien responded. ”If you're in trouble, I'll know,” he said, pointing upward to the side of his head to signify the Connection.

With that, Dr. Iplier clapped his hands. ”Great talk, everyone. I've got an appointment to make with a magic banshee, so if you'll excuse me...”

* * *

Mark fiddled with his phone nervously before clicking on the CALL button on his phone. He held his breath, supporting the device up against his ear as the dialing noises sounded off.

_Hello?_

”Hi Wade!” Mark said cheerfully, hiding the stress from his voice. ”What are you up to, man?”

_Oh, nothing much, actually. Why? What's going on with you?_

Mark huffed quietly so that the person on the other end of the call couldn't hear it. ”If you only knew,” Mark thought, but instead said, ”Same here; nothing much, except for the reason I was calling you. Some complications came up and I can't ride with you and Bob over to PAX.”

_Whoa, that was sudden. Well, that's fine - it shouldn't impact us too badly since PAX is three weeks away. Bob was driving, anyway. Why the change?_

”I’m going to be arriving a week early,” Mark said. ”I know, it's kind of a spontaneous decision, but this break has been really kind to me and I really want to explore the sights a little.”

_Oh yeah, I understand. Don't worry about calling Bob, I'll pass it on. See you there, Mark!_

”See you, buddy,” Mark responded, letting Wade hang up first. He sighed, placing the phone face down on the kitchen counter.

_These next weeks are going to be a doozy._


	12. High Ho! High Ho! It's Off to PAX We Go!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ROAD TRIP!!! :D

_Two Weeks Later... (because I'm a lazy fuk)_

After weeks of shopping, Mark had finally gotten the other egos their essentials and desired items. The best thing he thought he had accomplished in his mind was that he got them to dress _normally._

Damien had insisted on wearing a suit, so Mark got him another black suit as well as an inverted white set with black ties. He had also bought an elegant yet simple dark grey knitted waistcoat made of cotton with black sweatpants and a black long-sleeved undershirt to wear inside the house comfortably. 

Damien wouldn't admit it, but the sweater _was_ nice.

The Host, who was in dire need of a wardrobe change, received many soft brown sweaters and light grey pants. Mark had also torn his old washed clothes to create fresh and soft bindings for the Host to wrap around his eyes, which he still got thanks for.

For Wilford, Mark had bought him shirts, pants, and sweaters with crazy patterns all involving kittens, pineapples, or guns to some extent. They were also horrendously pastel pink and yellow, but the interviewer LOVED the voices Mark had made, wearing his new clothing around the house shamelessly.

Dr. Iplier had received turquoise and aquamarine t-shirts with some medical reference or joke on the front or back of the clothing, with plain dark sweatpants to match. His eyes had lit up at the jokes, which Mark knew the corny man would enjoy.

Google had gotten many pairs of jeans with navy blue and black tees - insisting on having them plain. Mark still made sure to check the material, and the android seemed content with Mark’s selections.

Bing had received more cropped shirts and tank tops following his orange theme, but Mark had also made sure to grab some long-sleeved shirts as well. He also received black jeans to match.

For Bim, Mark had bought him polo shirts of various colors. For some reason, Bim liked the royal purple the best, but Mark didn't question him at all. He also had been gifted with dark knee-height shorts.

Finally, for King, Mark settled on baggy loose clothing, finding hoodies and sweaters. King was extremely happy with how soft the material was, pulling the hood over his head as he slept.

They all had received cell phones with their new numbers and Mark’s entered into their contacts list. Presently, they were packing their belongings into the newly-acquired white van that Mark had purchased to transport them all to their destination. Mark had already dropped Chica off with a dogsitter, the puppy using some choice words that she had learned from Mark that he’d rather she not have heard. 

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Mark stepped away from the open back of the van, finished with placing his bags in the trunk. The van could hold fifteen people if all the seats were opened up, but they only needed nine, so the back row of seats was left unopened.

”Come on, guys!” Mark shouted behind his shoulder toward the house. ”Let’s pick up the pace!”

PAX was located in New York this year, a good three days drive. With a week left until the convention, Mark planned on arriving early so that he could get himself and the others situated in their hotel while preparing for Anti’s attack. Over the two weeks, Mark had been practicing hard on his own - every time he went outside to shop or walk Chica, he would use his abilities to try and feel the emotions of those around him. And, hey, if he pushed a little bit of happiness or excitement into them, what was the harm? It wasn't as if they would know it was him - he didn't need to come into contact with anyone to affect them.

His Empath abilities were getting easier to use as he continued to practice them. He attributed it to the scenario of working out to strengthen a muscle; the more he stretched this ”muscle,” the easier it was to turn it on and off - like a light switch in his head.

”What’s taking you all so long?” Mark called out again, sticking his head through the open front door. ”I'm falling asleep waiting for you!”

”I’m right here!” King chirped from behind Mark. He had been the first to finish packing his stuff into a large backpack. 

”I know, King.”

”I put my bag in the van!”

”I know, King.”

Wilford stumbled through the front door, hair disheveled, sticking out in all directions. He took a moment to fix his hair and rumpled clothing before moving to the van, throwing his duffel bag into the back carelessly as he took a seat in the middle row, sitting in the center seat.

Mark had groaned when he saw Wilford’s appearance, moving inside the house as the madman had thrown his bag into the van and shouted at the top of his lungs to the culprit he knew was responsible, ”Bing, I know that you're bothering the others - leave them alone and finish packing! Google, don't listen to Bing - bothering people is NOT what humans do on a normal basis!”

Also, Mark had forgotten that somehow, he had become the Mom of the group.

If you took the time to think about it, they all made up one big dysfunctional family. If Mark was the Mom, that made the Host the Dad. Damien was the oldest and responsible older brother, while Wilford was the crazy uncle popular with the trouble-causing kids. Google was the second oldest socially-awkward child while Bim was the angsty, moody teenager. Dr. Iplier was the other more responsible uncle that knew how to control rowdy kids and keep them in line. Bing was the younger prankster child and King was the precious cinnamon roll baby that had to be protected at all costs.

It was a dysfunctional family, sure, but it was _their_ dysfunctional family.

Bing made a quick appearance, grinning sheepishly at a disapproving Mark as he shouldered his backpack. ”Sorry. It’s just that Wilford was working the sink, and it was too hard for me to resist.” 

As he walked past Mark who was standing still in the doorway, Bim made his presence known, nodding once in Mark’s direction. ”Sorry for the wait; Google didn't know what to pack and what to leave behind.” He plugged his earbuds into his ears, tapping his phone to play music through the device as he walked away while dragging his suitcase on its wheels with Google right on his heels. The android holding a duffel bag in each hand smiled at Mark as he passed him by - Mark noted that his smile was more natural-looking and less forced, which was a drastic improvement.

Mark walked into the house, almost colliding into the doctor. ”Whoa there!” Mark exclaimed, moving surprisingly quickly to catch a tipping bag. 

Dr. Iplier huffed in relief, trying to angle himself so that he could see Mark through the pile of stacked bags. ”Thanks. Those assholes left me to do the hard work...”

”I'm sure that if you make it to the door that King will help,” Mark assured him before he went downstairs into the basement, leaving the doctor to shuffle to the door. ”Are you two alright down there? Need my help?”

”No! We’re fine; I'm just helping the Host pack. We’ll be up shortly,” Damien called up.

Satisfied with the answer given, Mark turned away to return outside, waiting for them by the door. After a couple more minutes, the last two egos had appeared, stepping outside.

”I'm terribly sorry for the wait,” the Host spoke apologetically. ”I was having trouble locating my belongings and needed Damien to help me.”

Mark nodded sympathetically, patting the Host’s shoulder. ”It’s alright; we’re not in a hurry. King can help you place your backpack in the trunk.”

As the Host walked off, Damien lingered behind with Mark as he locked the house shut, sighing contently. ”That should be everything,” he said, turning to face Damien. The ego was shielding his face from the sunlight with the arm not connected to holding the suitcase, blinking rapidly to tune out the rays of light. Seeing this, Mark fished in the shirt pocket of his flannel shirt and pulled out a pair of simple black sunglasses, handing them over to Damien, who put them on and shot Mark a grateful look.

With the luggage all packed, Mark took his place behind the wheel as the other piled in. Damien took the front seat while King, Wilford, and Dr. Iplier sat in the row behind them. In the row located behind them sat Google and Bing on the edges, leaving a seat empty between them. The Host and Bim were sitting in a similar arrangement in the back row. Mark smiled, turning around before he turned on the ignition. ”Everybody ready?”

At the chorus of confirmations, Mark finally started the car and drove off in the direction that the GPS was telling him to go toward, leaving the safety of his home behind.

* * *

**Flashback:**

_After Mark had finished calling Wade..._

”...”

”It’s not going to contact him by itself, you know.”

”Shut up, Bim! I know, okay?!”

”Take your time, doc. I know how hard this is.”

Mark blinked slowly. ”Stop overreacting and just contact the guy, or I will!”

Dr. Iplier sighed, holding his head in his hands before he took the small business card in both hands. ”Jesus... Marvin is the ’Best’ Magician,” Dr. Iplier said, sarcastically, saying the words to activate the connection.

In a small explosion of green sparks, the card disappeared in the doctor’s hands while the residual neon green smoke spread upward until it solidified into the form of a simple house cat.

”HI!!!”

”Jesus Christ,” Damien sighed, dragging a hand down his face, ”That’s it; I'm leaving.”

”Wow, you really must be desperate if you're willin’ to talk to me,” the cat spoke, it's out moving with the words that Marvin the Magnificent was saying. ”Did you think I'd even help ya?”

”Yeah, well,” the doctor retorted. ”the things I have to say concern you more than they concern me, so trust me, it'll be in your best interest to start listening.”

Marvin snorted. ”Unlikely, but continue.”

”Anti’s here; he's coming after your counterpart in this world - Jack.”

”And what does this have to do concerning me?” Marvin asked lazily. ”What makes you think I've ever met Jack?”

”Well, you'd better start considering doing that,” Dr. Iplier spoke, ”because I don't know if you're aware of this, but if he dies, then so do the rest of you.”

”... Are you sure?” The voice was less cocky-sounding and more worried as Marvin seemed to understand the gravity of the situation.

”We’ve felt it before with our counterpart, Mark,” the doctor explained. ”If Anti gets his hands on Jack, you'll all die. He's after Mark as well - he'll likely strike at PAX.”

”What do we do, then?”

”We need to work together to stop Anti and protect Mark and Jack,” Damien spoke, stepping forward. ”I know we've had our differences in the past, but we need to put them aside to keep them safe.”

”Hmm...” Marvin said. ”Alright. I'll tell the others and let them know. I could place a protective spell on Jack for the time being. Humans... they're so weak with their fragile bones. Especially in this world; can you imagine one of them going through the change we did?”

”Yes, we can,” Dr. Iplier said gravely before terminating the connection. 

* * *

_Back to the Present..._

Mark had been driving for about ten hours, trying to stay awake as he repeated song lyrics in his mind and turned on the A/C. None of it helped, and he could feel his eyes starting to droop. The setting sun was not helping his case, the darkness encouraging him to sleep.

_"Mark..."_

”Mark, let me take the wheel,” Damien said softly to not wake the others sleeping in the back. ”Pull over and let's switch.”

Mark nodded slowly, doing as Damien said. ”Do you even know how to drive?” he asked worryingly.

”Of course,” Damien replied confidently as he sat in the driver’s seat. ”I have a license in my world. I'll drive under the speed limit to make sure we're not pulled over. Just get some rest for now, okay?”

Mark yawned, nodding sleepily. _"Go to sleep, Mark..."_ ”Okay. Thanks, Damien.” He settled into the seat, allowing himself to let the darkness of the dream world consume him.

_He was running._

_Twisting himself through the narrow corridors that were dimly lit, with a sparse light dangling every now and then to help Mark see where he was running._

_He felt panicked; Mark didn't know what exactly he was running from, but he knew that if he was caught, then he’d be killed. He continued to hurriedly rush through the halls, slamming into an adjacent wall every time he’d take a turn._

_As he was running toward a door labeled the exit, something materialized in a vortex or furious pixels. It didn't materialize straight away, but Mark didn't want to wait long enough to find out. He spun on his heel and ran backward, trying to put as much distance between himself and this unknown threat._

_Suddenly, Mark was forced to the ground onto his stomach after the weight of another body collapsed onto him, pinning him to the ground._

_”No!” Mark screamed as he thrashed around to try and throw off his attacker. ”Get off of me!”_

_There was a snicker from on top of him; Mark couldn't turn his head 180 degrees to see who it was, but he wouldn't have tried, anyway. The assailant was currently holding a cold knife against Mark’s throat._

_”He’s adorable!” the man holding him down cooed. ”All the great looks, but no cold eyes like **his.** Maybe I could convince him to keep you...”_

_”Anti,” a second voice snapped. ”That was NOT part of the plan. Now, kill him; before I take away your fun with killing Jack.”_

_Anti sighed, clearly not happy with this mysterious man. ”Fine.” As he started to dig the knife against Mark’s throat, a second figure stepped from the shadows, and Mark gasped._

_The man who had addressed Anti earlier looked exactly like Mark - he was dressed in a clean deep royal red suit with a black tie. Only his eyes, which were like dark pits that seemed to fall into hell the longer you looked into them, were the only thing separating Mark from him. The man smiled maliciously._

_”See you at PAX, **Markiplier**.”_

_And then the knife dragged itself across Mark’s neck._

Mark woke up with a start and a strangled scream trying to crawl up his throat and out his mouth. He was breathing irregularly, panting heavily through his mouth. After taking some deep and regulated breaths, Mark settled back into his seat, thinking back to what his nightmare had been about.

”Are you okay?” Damien, who was still driving with the sun just starting to rise, looked over at Mark in concern.

”Where are we?” Mark asked, looking around at his surroundings.

”We've just entered Indiana,” Damien replied, slowing the car as he continued to shift his attention between Mark and the road. ”You were knocked out for a little more than a _full_ _day._ What happened?”

"A _day?!"_ Mark exclaimed, waking Wilford mid-snore and causing him to choke. "What do you mean? I was only having a nightmare, that's all!"

Dr. Iplier, who sat directly behind Mark, unbuckled his seatbelt suddenly and wrapped his arm around to place a hand on Mark's forehead. "That's odd," the doctor spoke, frowning uncertainly, "I'm picking up the Actor's energy signature."

Damien jerked the wheel to the side, putting the van onto oncoming traffic while the other egos were thrown about. Mark heard screaming - most likely his own - as Damien skillfully weaved through the honking vehicles that were rushing at them. Mark finally snapped out of his terrified state, finally moving to pull the wheel back to the right and onto the correct lane. Damien pulled over to the side and stopped the van, everyone else in the vehicle sitting still and petrified. That is, almost everyone...

"Whoo!" Wilford exclaimed gleefully from the center of the second row, throwing his hands up in the air. "Again! Let's do that again!!!"

"... Please... no..." King's small voice sounded from behind Damien's seat.

Google's eyes were still wide, one of them twitching slightly as Bing attempted to calm him down, patting him on the back soothingly.

The Host cleared his throat. "Maybe a change in drivers is in order. Dr. Iplier, could you please take the wheel?"

The doctor frowned. "But I have to remove the Actor's -"

"NOW, doctor," the Host demanded, his usually tempered voice breaking under the stress they were all feeling.

Bim, who had been sleeping this entire time, woke up, blinking blearily through the sunlight. "Huh? What happened? Why have we stopped?"

Dr. Iplier moved toward the driver's seat, opening the door. Damien had not moved at all since he put the car in park. Mark noticed with apprehension that his hands were starting to crush the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as his hands trembled slightly. Dr. Iplier sighed, placing his hand on Damien's shoulder.

"Don't! Touch me," Damien reacted suddenly, swatting at the doctor's hand while hissing at him. 

"Then move," the doctor snapped, done with putting up with the egos and their attitudes.

"Guys!" Mark shouted, "Please, don't start anything. Look, we'll just go to PAX and then deal with this, okay? But for now, we need to keep moving so that we'll have enough time to situate ourselves and get ready-"

"No!" Damien snapped, slamming his hand on the dashboard violently. "No, you're not going to PAX. No one is going to PAX except for me. WIth the Actor here, it changes _everything._ I can't protect you - none of us can. I'm sorry, but you're not going."

Mark sputtered indignantly. "That's... that's not your decision to make!"

"Mark," the Host spoke softly from the back of the van, "You should listen to Damien. Anti is one thing, but the Actor is something else entirely. His abilities attack the mind - he can pull you into dreams where he's in absolute control, just like the one you just had. And that is him at his weakest; he brings out your insecurities and gets you to trust him, luring you into a false sense of security until he stabs you in the back, quite literally. The biggest threat he poses, however, is his ability to enter the dark recesses of your mind and consume your soul. After this, you'll only be a walking body - a dead husk - with no ability to think or feel. You can't go."

"You know what?" Mark said dully, "Fuck this guy."

Bing drew in a sharp breath, shaking his head quickly. "Nuh-uh. Don't say that."

"No!" Mark snapped as he came to life, unbuckling, and turning around to face the rest of them. "Fuck this guy! You've all lived on your world in a state of constant fear and paranoia because of this ASSHOLE. Are you really going to let him have this kind of power over you? Men like him only want one thing - attention. You're giving it to him, too! If you want this to stop, you have to face your fears. I know that it's scary, but wouldn't you rather die knowing that you tried than sit back and regret your decisions?"

Wilford shook his head and spoke in a calm and serious tone rarely heard from the man, "Mark - you can't risk it. This guy; he's pure evil. If he's working with Anti, then it'll be better for us to go home and wait for them to come to us; on our own turf."

"... and Jack?" Mark asked hoarsely.

"Your friend will be okay," Damien said firmly, but neither he nor the others looked very confident about that. "You're not going to PAX; you'll have other opportunities to see your friends-"

"You think this is because I want to see my friends?!" Mark shouted, fury rising as his hair started to glow red, sparks of flame arising. "I go to these conventions - which only happen a few times each year - to see my FANS. These are the people who support my channel, and the people I help in return. These people have gone through so many problems in their life and use me as an outlet - it is their only wish to see me. For some kids, it's their dying wish! You want me to disappoint them because I got SCARED?! Fuck you! Fuck you, Damien! I'm going, whether you're coming with me or not!"

Mark threw open the door, running to the back of the van and getting his duffel bag and backpack from the trunk. He stormed off down the side of the freeway, ignoring the Host who was running after him. "MARK!" he shouted after the man, but Mark didn't listen, sticking up his thumb to the side for a ride.

The Host ran back to the van with the other egos. "We have to go with him," he urged Damien, who just watched Mark disappear over the hill. "He'll get killed, Damien! If he wants to fight, it's his decision. We have to support him!"

"Do we?" Damien sullenly said, turning to look at the Host, a cold look in his eyes. "Get in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, you didn't think this was going to end happily, did you? >:)


	13. Save Yourself, I'll Hold Them Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone get the reference in the title?

Mark had ended up walking down the highway alone, not hearing nor seeing the van following after him. Disheartened and upset, he trekked down the road until he finally stumbled across a bus station that was just picking up a couple of passengers. Walking up to join the others getting onto the bus, Mark fished out his wallet, paid, and then went to sit in the back of the mostly empty vehicle.

He sighed, wincing as he felt how sore his feet were, raising them and lying across the length of the row of seats. It was only him and a few other people spread about on the bus - nobody would care. His head was pressed up against the window as he stared out, his tired eyes scanning the blurring landscape as the bus drove onward toward his destination.

He was probably a little harsh with his words earlier, but he HAD to get his point across - there was no point in living your life if you were just living in fear. Unfortunately, the others didn't share this sentiment, and so he was here alone, heading off in the direction of certain death. Something caught in his throat when he thought about what was waiting for him. Did the others think that he wasn't scared? He was scared out of his mind - it was he who Anti and the Actor were after, yet here he was. 

And **no** , he _**wasn't**_ a masochist. That would be taking things to the extreme.

Mark retrieved his phone to identify the route he needed to take to get to PAX - he'd have to go to two more stops before making it decently close. He estimated that this would take a couple _more_ days, putting him _way_ behind schedule and not leaving him much time to get prepared. He groaned quietly, moving his hands up to his head to grasp and pull slightly at his hair. 

At that moment, hopelessness washed over him as he desperately stifled the urge to cry tears of anger and frustration, but he knew that doing that would not get him anywhere. Instead, he opened his contacts list and clicked on Jack's grinning profile picture as he held the phone up against his ear, waiting for the Irishman to pick up. The man had boarded his plane three days ago - surely, he was in New York by now?

The phone clicked.

_Maerk?_

Mark wanted to scream and cry with relief at hearing Jack's voice, but he composed himself quickly, covering the sound of his sniffling. "Hey, Jack. How are you doing?"

_I'm fine._

A pause. Mark noticed worryingly that his voice was uncharacteristically quiet. 

_Is everything alright?_

And then Mark broke. He told Jack about the nightmare he had with Anti and the Actor, what they had said, and then his fight with his egos. "They're not coming, Jack," he wrapped up. "They're too afraid of the Actor - it'll just be your egos and me. I'm sorry, man."

_*sigh* My egos aren't coming, either._

Mark's heart stopped. "What?" he asked, voice breaking.

 _They're not coming!_ Jack's voice snapped with irritation and anger. _They're afraid of the team-up going on, too. They took the next flight home - I was hopin' that your egos would get here, but it's just our shitty luck, isn't it?_

"Oh my God," Mark whispered, the fear evident in his voice. "What the hell are we going to do?"

_I don't know. We don't have powers as they do - we're just lambs bein' sent off to the slaughter. Fuck those guys. Fuck everyone. If we're going to go out, then we're goin' out with a bang. It'll be the greatest thing ever. We'll go down in history as the people who kept fightin' 'til the end."_

Mark huffed, laughing quietly to not disturb the others on the bus. He forgot that Jack and his egos didn't know about Mark's abilities, but he didn't comment on it - not wanting to talk about anything related to the bleak situation. "BUMBUM and Toss Boy, back at it again for one final ride. How poetic."

Thankfully, Jack laughed with Mark, alleviating the tension. _We had one hell of a run, didn't we?_

Mark sighed, thinking back on everything that he had accomplished. "We sure did, buddy. We sure did."

_Well, I'll see you whenever you get here - a day before PAX. We can talk about strategies and plan escapes and shit. Just because we're gonna die doesn't mean we should make it easy for them. I'm slippery as an eel - he'll have a fuckin' hard time gettin' his claws on ME. And you're pretty nimble yerself."_

"Yeah." Mark's eyes were unfocused, staring off into the distance. "I'll see you at PAX, Jack."

_See you, Maerk. Safe travels._

The call disconnected.

Mark sighed again, settling into the cushioned seat as he shut his eyes. Hopefully, he'd have at least one good dream before he died. 

* * *

When Mark had finally arrived in New York, he felt guilty about the feeling of homesickness rising in him.

There was nothing more that he wanted than to be at home, curled up against Chica while playing his favorite games leisurely. He'd never had this feeling when he came to PAX; usually, he'd be excited to have the chance to interact with the fans. It was the looming threat of the Actor and Anti that was preventing him from enjoying his time.

He walked through the bustling streets in dire need of a shower and rest, locating the hotel that the egos had booked for him. They had coordinated weeks in advance to rent out rooms that were right next to each other, but it all seemed for naught since there was no one coming to help them. 

They had to save themselves.

Mark checked in and received his room key, finding himself in the elevator and going upward to reach his floor. At the cheerful *ding* of the elevator stopping, Mark shouldered his backpack as he walked into the hallway.

Immediately, he was hit with the sensation of deja vu. He blinked, and the hallways dimmed. The dangling light fixtures all went out, only leaving the one in the middle lit as the corridor was plunged into darkness. Mark gasped, falling back a step as he blinked again...

... and everything was back to normal.

Mark, however, was immediately reminded of his dream. He was certain that this was the place that his nightmare had taken place in. Everything was precise down to the final detail - the carpeted rug, the patterns on the wall, hell! Even the vase on the little side table that jutted out into the walkway. Mark swallowed the lump in his throat, walking down to his room as he swiped the key and went inside, locking the door behind him.

He examined the room, noting how clean everything was. He dumped his bags in the closet, retrieving some items as he headed into the bathroom to take a shower - something that he hadn't had the luxury to do in these past few days. He took his time - basking in these last few moments for himself.

He changed into a new fresh set of clothes as he stepped outside, styling his hair briefly by pushing it to the side. He glanced at the door across from his, reading the golden number on the wood. Seeing a familiar set of numbers and letters, he closed the short distance across the hallway, knocking twice on the door.

"Who is it?"

"BUMBUM, at your service," Mark rumbled in a low voice.

The door swung open quickly, almost hitting Mark in the face with its trajectory. Standing in the doorway was none other than Jacksepticeye, eyes wide as he took in Mark's appearance, the taller YouTuber grinning goofily at the sight of his friend.

Jack snatched Mark by the front of his shirt, pulling him into his room quickly.

"AAUGH!" Mark exclaimed, falling over his feet as he was suddenly yanked forward. Jack threw Mark to the floor unceremoniously behind him, moving quickly to lock the door. He turned around, back flat against the door as he looked down at Mark, his icy blue eyes still open wide. "Why the hell were you just standin' out there like an idiot?" he snapped.

"Huh?" Mark asked, confused by the sudden question thrown at him.

Jack rolled his eyes. "You have ta be more careful, ya doofus. Who knows what could happen?!"

"I'm sorry," Mark said as he got back onto his feet, not fully certain on what he needed to be sorry about, "I didn't mean to worry you. I'll be more careful; I promise."

Jack exhaled, seeming as if he had been holding in that breath for hours-on-end. "Yeah, yeah. Just, get over there." He pushed Mark toward the back of his room, as Mark sat in the chair against the desk while Jack sat on his bed, hands reaching in his bag and bringing out a bottle of whiskey.

"I originally planned on buying this here to celebrate when we beat them," Jack said dully, the usual spark in his voice gone, "but since they're not here, I'll just drink until I pass out."

"Hey," Mark frowned, pulling the alcohol out of Jack's reach. "Don't give up, yet! Besides, you'll be torturing me by drinking that in front of me."

"We're livin' on borrowed time," Jack snapped, clearly irritated under the stress. "Let me live these last hours of my life the way I want to. You can drink some, too. Take the easy way out."

"Are you hearing yourself? We can still make it through this," Mark encouraged, "Who knows? Maybe our egos will feel guilty enough for leaving us alone that they'll come back to save us in time. Anything could happen - just look at how we got into this mess!"

Jack breathed out heavily through his nose and mouth, covering his face with his hands. "I'm just really fookin' scared, Maerk. I'm sorry for being like this."

Mark sat down on the bed next to his friend, wrapping his arms around him comfortingly. "It's alright," he said soothingly, "Everyone gets scared; the only difference between the scared and the brave is those brave people manage to push through their fear and never give up, even if they're set up for failure."

Jack's shoulders shook from silent sobs. "I don't wanna die."

"I know," Mark said, his vision becoming blurry as tears started to fall down his face. "I know, Jack. I know."

Mark continued to hold Jack comfortingly until the Irishman had finally stopped sobbing, wiping his nose as he looked up at Mark with red eyes. 

"What's Wilford Warfstache like?"

They stayed in the same room for the rest of the night and talking with each other, Mark eventually making a makeshift bed on the floor. Both of them were too scared to fall asleep without the other nearby.

* * *

"Look, it's Markiplier!"

"Hi, Jack!"

The sounds of the convention were deafening, but Mark and Jack were able to pick up on the sounds of their eager fans calling out to them. They waved in their direction happily, trying to push aside the lingering fears that someone would come up to them and stab them from behind.

At the signing table later on in the day, Mark scanned the area, deep in thought. _Anti and the Actor wouldn't strike here - there are way too many people here. They'd have to do it when we're alone... Maybe my nightmare was a premonition! Maybe the Actor showed a little too much and accidentally revealed to me where they're going to strike - when Jack and I get back to our rooms, tired from the events of today._

"HEY!"

"Ack!" Mark screamed, jumping in his seat as he turned around, coming face-to-face with Felix. The Swede man cackled at Mark's terrified expression, falling to the ground in a state of hysteria. "Oh... my God... You should have seen your face!" he shrieked through the laughter.

From behind him, CinnamonToastKen stared disapprovingly down at Felix. "Sorry, Mark," Ken said apologetically. "I'll get him out of the way so you can continue signing. Let's GO, Felix."

Mark struggled to get his heart rate under control, noticing Jack's worried side glance from the side where he was sitting and signing for the fans next to Mark. Mark nodded once toward him, letting him know that he was okay, before sitting back down and continuing to interact with his fans.

Later in the day, Mark was prepping to go out on stage with Bob, Wade, Ethan, and Tyler, all of them waiting backstage. The others were chatting and laughing as they exchanged stories, but Mark continued to stare at his hands, clasped on his lap. 

"... Mark?"

"Huh?" Mark asked, his head snapping up to look at the rest of his friends who were watching him with concern. "I'm fine," he assured them, waving them off. "Just thinking about a potential future project. Don't worry about me; carry on."

He wondered if Jack was doing fine out there in the audience, thinking about the possibilities of murder that could take place. _Anti could be sitting right behind him. When the crowd gets captivated by something I say or do, maybe he'll slit Jack's throat. I have to warn him, somehow!_

"Hey, man; are you okay?"

Mark looked up again, seeing Bob look down at him in worry. "They've just called us up; we're going on."

Shaking his head, Mark forced a smile onto his face. "Um, yeah. Sorry - I didn't hear anything." He followed after his friends, walking out to the middle of the stage as he waved to the cheering audience, the worries lessening slightly. 

And yet, throughout the panel, Mark made it a point to look down at Jack to make sure that he was okay.

As the rest of the day continued, Mark found himself progressing through a pattern. He would fall deep into thought in a state of fear and paranoia until one of his friends shook him out of it, and he'd pretend like nothing was wrong. He could tell that at this point, they didn't believe him at all, but he kept up the lie, hiding in fear that if he told them that Anti or the Actor would go after his friends, too.

Also, Mark learned that it was _extremely_ hard to fake a smile.

Yet, somehow, he had managed to make it through the day without a hitch or peep from Anti or the Actor, which only increased the tension he felt about returning to the hotel. As the activity in PAX started to die out, Mark realized that he had no idea where Jack was. He had to catch up with Jack to warn him about the possibility of an attack at the hotel! He pulled out his phone, running outside in a state of panic as he called Jack, only to be met with his cheery voicemail script.

 _Hello, this is Sean-slash-Jack. You've reached my voicemail; please leave a message after the beep. BEEP!!!_ And then, the phone produced its beeping noise.

"Jack, pick up," Mark begged as he ran toward the direction of the hotel. "I _need_ to talk to you. Don't go into the hotel without me, okay?"

Mark ran inside the building, rushing immediately toward the elevator as he frantically pushed the button. When the doors opened, he waited until the people inside had exited, and he threw himself inside, pushing the button to the room of their floor. 

"Please be okay, please be okay," Mark repeated the mantra, eyes wide in panic and fear.

*DING*

The elevator doors opened slowly, and Mark held his breath, expecting the hall to look like it had in his nightmare.

Everything was normal.

Mark slowly peeked his head out, looking behind him for any sight of Anti or the Actor, but no one was there. Gulping in apprehension, Mark walked slowly through the hallway toward his room, looking behind him frequently to ensure that no one was sneaking upon him. Eventually, he paused before his room door, his room key raised to swipe down and unlock it. His hand trembled, almost dropping the key to the floor when suddenly, he heard a shout from the room behind him.

Jack's room.

Mark whipped around, running to the door and threw himself against it. "JACK!" he screamed, pounding on the door. "OPEN THE DOOR, JACK!"

There were crashing noises coming from inside, and Mark cursed. He focused on the determination and concern for his friend welling in his gut before throwing himself against the door, breaking through it with the force of super-strength as he looked up...

... right in time to see Anti stab downward into Jack's chest.

"NO!" Mark shouted, rushing at the glitch and tackling him off of Jack. Anti was giggling maniacally, his knife now glistening red as Jack's blood dripped from it and fell to the floor. "Whoops," he sneered at Mark. "My hand slipped."

He swiped his hand, which now had claws, in Mark's direction, but he fell to the ground just in time to avoid the strike. Anti, however, moved quickly and seized Mark's shirt, throwing him into the table which broke under the force of the throw. Mark groaned in pain, looking up just in time to grab Anti's wrists as he tried to drive his knife into Mark's body.

"I was planning on visiting you later," the glitch grinned maliciously, "but you just decided to pop up, and you left me with no other choice. I would have preferred to drag this out longer, but I can't do that anymore, can I?" He threw his weight against the handle of the knife, the point of it moving downward to bury itself into Mark's stomach.

Mark growled, glaring up defiantly at Anti. "I know what you are," he spat. "You think that you're invulnerable because you can disappear into the Internet like the bitch glitch you are. Because you're **afraid.** You think you're on top of the world, so you're also **proud.** But ultimately, you're just a scared little nuisance who is trying to make a name for himself. And that's all you are. You're **SCARED.** " 

With that, Mark threw Anti off of him, feeling a new power rush through his body. Roaring, Anti threw himself at Mark, only to have his knife drive through a wall. He stared at it in confusion. "What the-"

H̱̳̼̰̪̰ͥ͊͞ͅo̼̺͙̭͗͝w̰̬̻̌ͤͯ́ ̛̜͎̹̫̣͊́̈́̆d̨̘͈̹̝͖̼ͦ͑ö̜̼̽ͪͪ̕e̹̪͉̟ͣ̽͝ş̤̠̱̜̻̻̠͉̅ ̳̘̤̺̬̆ͮ̄̅̀į͕̳͈̺̼̦̩̒̅̿t̛̙̮͎͈̲͎ͪͦͯ̎ ̼͎̬̜̭͕̟̼̎̆̍͞f̢̲̮̝͆̓ͅe͕̜̦ͭ́e̼̙̹͉͙̋͛̐͠l̪̳̲̬̪̻͚̃ͨͦ̊͘,̙̯̙̖̗ͦ͟ ̊̿͗͏̖̬͖͎͙̻Ã͏̳̝̤̖n̵̪͙͚̜͈̥̭̩̈́͋̐t̼̥̤̥̞̂ͬ̀͗͠ͅi̡̼̰̦̣͓̼͖̋̅?̨͙̪̹͂̄̎

Anti's eyes widened as he realized that the voice was not his, and he whirled around, holding his knife in front of him defensively. "What are you?" he snarled, fear leaking into his voice.

H̷͈͇͙̫ͤ̽̄o͇̫̓̆͜w͓͕̺̝͍̜̞̠̿́ ͤ̓̐̚҉͖͔̟̣ḏ̛̦̤̦̜̠̫͋̓ơ̝͔̥̮̮̋e̛̻͚̙͕̝͚͉̟̓̓ͧs͇̙̩͕̹͑ͭͨ̈͢ ̎͆̚҉̬͖ͅi̸̳̻̪̰͛t̆̋̒҉͎̭̗͔̺̬ͅͅ ̡͍͖̬͗̉f̱̜̱̫̻͔ͧ͞e̡̠̺̹̼̰̭͂̽͑ͅe̟̲̣͚͛̄͟l̛̠͎̦̬͉͑͛ͧ̀ ̨̟̜̹̒t̖̪̘̜̮͖̻ͨͬ̕o̹͍̓͋ͥ̎̀ ̹̲͓̟͈̖͈͌́͡ḧ̳̮͉̲̘̰̩͕́͟â̡̳̮̟͉̻̦̻̿͆v̧̭͎̦͙͍̱ͤḙ̘̪̮̳͖̻ͪ͑̽̚͢ ̡̦̼̼͕͔̜͍̺̈́̎y͙̘̭̠͂̋̌́ō͓̟̯͚̝̻ͪ̌̍͘u̺͔̳̭ͭ́ȓ̵̩͉̬͚̥̫̹̌͆ ͉̱̠̘͇̳͚͌ͪͨ͊͢ͅo̶͖̣̓̾ͬͅw̶̞̱̟̗̱͛̈́n̵̩̼̯̩̜̼ͩ ̙̻̥͌̓́p̻̭͔̟̹̟͋͢ơ̟̰̗̲̘̣͇ͯ̍ͩͨw̩͓͓͂͡ẹ̳̘̱͑̀̚r̢̟̯̄̊̒ͩs̢͇̱̠͚̣̐ ̧̲͉̜̹̦̻͌̐̒u̟̤̞ͤͬ͞s̟̞̳̘̲̓͆̈͡e̩̭̳͈̜͇̠͒̒̆ͭ͞ͅd̘̮̒͢ ̼̼̞̎̎͟ã̛͚̘̥̭̠͍͕̓͛͒g͇̜̬̫͋ͩ̈́͝a̛̘̰̪͇͓̮ͤͪͣ̑i͕͚͔̬̭͈ͦ͑͝ͅn̝̙͎͙ͦ̈́͒̚͜s̸̻̪̼͖̻͙͂̍ͅt̺͉̺ͮ̈̒̎͟ ̷̝̬̅ͫy̶̯̪͎̘̱͆o̴̝̭̞̼͓͚̅͌̇ͭu͔̦̹̫ͨ͞?̶̬͇̱͈͙̩̗ͣͧ͒̋ͅ

"Shut up!" Anti snarled, his eyes widened nonetheless as he tried to locate Mark. "Where the fuck are ya?!"

Ḯ̢͇̯̠̬̽ͯ̓͒͛͏̲ͅ'̖̞̻͈̔ͬ̀͆̕m̼̯̯͇̪ͥ̓̄͞ ̷̤̮̣̩͙̹͉̊r͇͕̭̗ͣ͆̽͟i̘̺̰̘̻͌́ǵ̗͍̓ͮ̈͝ͅh̉͐҉̖̖͇̬̭̬̞t͉̬͕͙͍ͭ̿̿͝ ̶͓͙̱̟̱̱̺̞́̌h̛̥̣̦̳ͩe͂͗҉̬̟͖r̟̬̭͈̬ͪ́ͅe̘͍͓͖̖̓͂͘.͑҉͚̗

.

.

.

And then Mark materialized behind Anti, wrapping his hands around the glitch's throat as he dug his fingers into the cut that Dark had made all those years ago. Anti howled in agony, falling to the ground as Mark entered the being's mind, pressing deep in the evil entity's mindscape until he reached the soul. Anti's soul was a deep emerald mist that enveloped a black sphere in the middle.

Anti's projection in the mindscape blinked at Mark, who was approaching his soul with his hand outstretched. "What are ya doin'?" he shouted hoarsely. "Stay away!"

Mark paid no attention to him, reaching his hand through the green fog until his hand was placed on the surface of the black sphere at the center. He closed his eyes, removing the maliciousness from Anti and replacing it with Mark's own emotions:

Kindness.

Compassion.

Hope.

"Stop!" Anti screamed as he threw himself at Mark. But they were only in Anti's mind, and therefore didn't have physical forms, and so Anti only phased through Mark's projection, leaving the YouTuber free to do what he wanted. He opened his eyes and looked toward Anti; his chocolate eyes looked down at him pityingly. "Your ability had been tearing you apart, so you go out and kill others because you hate that they're able to live a normal life. You think, 'Why should they get to live happily?' You've never had a proper teacher to help you master your abilities; once you do, you'll gain an appreciation for what you have. I'm imprinting a little part of myself to you - something that I hope you'll begin to emulate. You're a good person, Anti. I know it."

And then, the world came back into focus. 

Mark blinked, looking up at the ceiling. He sat up and scanned the area around him, seeing Anti unconscious on the floor and Jack's injured body. 

"Jack!" Mark scrambled across the floor until he reached his friend's side. Thankfully, it seemed as if the knife had just impaled the man's shoulder, and Mark reached out toward Jack to help.

Immediately, Jack recoiled. "Stay the fuck away from me!" he hissed. Mark leaned back, a look of hurt crossing his face. "I... I stopped Anti, Jack. I helped you!"

"You're the Actor, aren't ya?" Jack snapped with disgust. "What the hell did you do with Maerk? He doesn't have powers, ya fuckin' sicko! I bet you're just waitin' for me to lower my guard and let you take my soul; isn't that right?!" he screamed.

Mark's mouth fell open. "Jack, I've had powers for a couple of weeks - I got it from Dr. Iplier, who pushed his powers into me. They manifested as my own powers. Damien taught me how to control them; I've never killed anybody! Jack, I'm not going to hurt you," Mark pleaded. "I can heal you, just please, let me help!"

"I'd rather die," Jack spoke defiantly, and a silence fell across the room.

Mark fell back with a wounded look on his face. The words that had come out of Jack's mouth had hit harder than any punch Anti had managed to land on Mark - Jack was looking at him like he was the worst person in the world, and it hurt Mark to no end.

"I'll... I'll call an ambulance," he stuttered, turning around to reach the hotel phone.

"Why, hello there, Mark," the Actor grinned, holding Anti's knife as he plunged it hilt-deep through Mark's heart.

Mark looked up at the Actor's face in shock before he looked down at the knife sticking out of his chest. Distinctly, he could hear Jack screaming off in the distance, but it was just so far away. The only thing that was calling out to him now was the infinite darkness that was Death, and Mark closed his eyes for the last time, falling backward into Death's open arms.

* * *

"Well, that was easy," the Actor said flippantly, kicking Mark's corpse aside before turning his attention toward Jack.

The Irishman wanted to throw up. He now knew that it had been Maerk who had saved his life from Anti, and last words he told him were him denying any help from the compassionate man, saying that he'd "rather die." The look of pure hurt on Mark's face was the only thing that Jack could see, as the Actor slunk smoothly toward Jack, eyeing him as a predator would look at its prey. 

"Sorry, Jack. I almost didn't see you there," this perversion of Mark grinned horrendously. Jack snarled weakly, the blood loss starting to kick in. "I'm sorry you had to watch that," the Actor said, gestruing behind him where Mark's body was lying face-down. "He was just _so_ weak. I will admit, he surprised me when I discovered that he was an Empath, but you know the saying about Empaths: _Live Strong, Die Early!_

Jack shot the Actor a revolted look. "You're fuckin' sick."

The Actor shot Jack a bemused smile. "Aw, how sweet of you to notice!" He drove the knife downward into Jack's upper thigh, causing him to scream out in agony. The Actor tutted, wrapping his hand around Jack's open mouth. "Shhh," he said, raising the knife to put it up against his lips. "Quiet. We don't want anyone else to hear, do we?"

Jack thrashed uselessly against the weight of the Actor, feeling sluggish as the blood left his body at a faster rate. He was filled with regret - saying the things he had said to Mark and those hurtful words being the last thing that he'd ever hear. He sobbed through the physical and emotional pain, shutting his eyes as the Actor raised the knife to bring it down on Jack's head.

_The knife sailed downward..._

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a horrible, horrible person. I'm so sorry!!!


	14. You're My Best Friend, 'Til the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is the grand finale of Part 1 of the YouTuber Multiverse Series! I plan on posting one more chapter to serve as an Epilogue, and then I'll start immediately with Jack's side of the story during the events of this one.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support! :)

_The knife sailed downward..._

... and stopped midair.

"What?!" the Actor shouted angrily, causing Jack's eyes to snap wide open again. His mouth fell open in shock. _Was he hallucinating from the bloodloss?_

Mark was standing beside the Actor, holding his wrist with the knife before it could sink into Jack. His shirt was still cut and bloody from where the Actor had driven the knife into his heart, but instead of a fresh wound on his chest, the injury had sealed over, leaving behind a golden line as a scar that glittered under the moonlight leaking through the window. Mark's usually brown eyes were now glowing gold as well, white sparks dancing in the black pupils as Jack was hit with a wave of emotions: fury, anger, protectiveness, determination, courage, and strength. Looking at Mark, one would understandingly mistake him to be an angel. 

Taking advantage of the Actor's shock, Mark seized him by the lapels of his suit with his other hand. He threw him against the wall with such great force that the wall caved in, showing the ugly foundation underneath. In a flash of light, Mark blinked out of existence and reappeared in front of the dazed Actor, reaching down to place his hand against his forehead.

The Actor's body slackened similarly to the way that Anti's and Mark's bodies had done when Mark entered Anti's mind earlier, only this time, Mark was still standing upright, his eyes glowing brilliantly as he glared down at the Actor. Suddenly, the man in the red suit began to scream, until he was burning, smoke rising off of his body. The smell was just awful - it should have just smelled like burning meat, but the Actor was not human. He started to spasm, shaking violently as a dark fog was removed from his body and disappeared in the air.

Jack watched in horror as the man was burned alive until there was an ashy imprint on the wall where the Actor once was.

Mark stumbled, his eyes returning to their normal color as he fell to the ground onto his knees. He made eye contact across the room with Jack, the Korean's eyes open just long enough to make sure that the Irishman was okay, before Mark fell, unconscious, onto his face. Jack, despite the intense pain he was experiencing, dragged himself across the floor until he was by Mark, placing a hand on his body. 

Jack started to sob. "Please, don't die. I'm sorry for what I said; please, come back so I can have a second chance!"

"... Jack?"

The voice sounded like Mark's but it wasn't. The Irishman turned to face the other newcomers standing at the doorway. He could identify them from Mark's videos: Darkiplier, Wilford Warfstache, the Host, and the rest of the crew were here, surveying the chaos in the room. Despite this, none of them were Mark. Anti's body was still unresponsive, lying on the floor. Looking over their shoulders, Jack saw his egos with them as well.

"You're too late," he hiccuped. "You're all too late."

Marvin and Schneep pushed through Mark's egos to kneel by Jack's side. "He's bleeding out!" the doctor exclaimed. "We can't get him to the hospital long enough."

"Then use your powers to heal him," Dark spoke up irately from behind them as he kneeled by Mark's body. "If he's anything like Mark, he'll survive the change."

"What makes you so damn sure?!" Chase shouted from the back. "I don't understand ANYTHING; what the hell happened?!"

"Anti was waiting for me in my room," Jack explained as he felt Schneep's powers calm him and heal his body. "I fought him off, but he was overpowering me. Maerk somehow managed to break through the locked door, and he threw Anti off of me, but he still stabbed me in my shoulder. And then, Maerk and Anti were both unconscious, but Mark started talking - something about how he was imprinting himself and he knew that Anti was a good person, deep down? Then, Maerk woke up but not Anti, and then he tried to help me heal my wound."

At this point, Jack was sobbing. "And then... I pushed him away! I didn't know he had powers, and I thought that he was the Actor tryin' to get me to trust him. I told him that I'd rather die than let him help me. His face... he was so hurt. Then, he got up saying that he was gonna call the ambulance, but the Actor was there behind him and stabbed him in the heart."

"Since when did Mark develop powers?" J.J. signed toward the group.

Wilford gestured toward Mark's body with the end of his gun, startling the Jacksepticeye egos while the Markiplier egos just moved to the side - their faces reading "yup, same shit, as always". "Oh, you know. A couple of weeks ago, or something like that..." 

Damien paused, the shadows around his shoulders growing more solid. "Where is the Actor now?"

Through his shaking, Jack pointed over to the blackened spot on the wall where the imprint of a man was. Jackieboy Man sucked in a deep breath at the sight. "Jesus; the Actor was Erased! Pretty fuckin' well, I should add."

"What?" Jack asked.

"Erased is what happens when someone destroys a being's essence and removes them from the plane of existence," Google explained, staring at the spot on the wall. "I'm sorry; I'm just surprised that he's gone."

"Did you do this?" Damien asked Jack, rounding on him.

"No," Jack stuttered. "Maerk did." 

"Mark is dead, Jack," Marvin said softly. "He's dead, and he's not coming back."

"No, I saw it!" Jack insisted. "It was the strangest thing; his wound was healed and there was a golden scar on it - his eyes were golden, too! He did the same thing to the Actor, only they both didn't fall over; only the Actor did. Mark just continued to stare down at him and hold him down as he burned - or Erased - the Actor. Then, his eyes were normal again and he looked at me before he fell over! I swear, it happened!!!"

Bim walked over to Mark's body, grunting as he rolled the man onto his back. Sure enough, there on full display was the golden scar that had once been a bleeding fatal knife wound. The Host knelt by Mark's body, feeling for his pulse. 

"I knew it," he said happily. "Mark isn't dead - just unconscious. It takes a lot of energy to Erase a being, especially one as powerful as the Actor was. Besides, if he were truly dead, then so would we be. We are all extremely lucky."

"Hold up," Marvin said, raising his hands. "Something doesn't make sense. What exactly is Mark's ability, and how does it give him the ability to Erase beings?"

"Mark was able to Erase the Actor because he created him," the Host explained, still looking down at Mark's unconscious body. "Because he gave the Actor life, he could also take it away. Mark is an Empath - he likely entered the Actor's mind and destroyed his soul, just as he converted Anti's."

"Do you think we can trust him?" Bing asked warily as he approached Anti's slumped form. He nudged the glitch's body with his foot.

"I think," King answered for all of them, "that we owe it to Mark to try."

Jack coughed suddenly, bringing all attention to him. "Ugh, I'm not feeling too well, guys."

"You're going through the change," Chase explained as he boldly pushed his way to reach Jack. "It's normal."

"You will have superpowers after!" Dr. Iplier exclaimed joyfully, clapping his gloved hands together. "Just like Mark! Well, not quite."

Immediately, Jack's eyes lit up with excitement. "Oooh! Do you think I'll be able to breathe underwater? Oh, what about a sonic-pitched scream? That would be awesome. Or laser eyes! Well, that would probably be a hindrance..."

Damien sighed, throwing his arms up into the air as he walked in the direction of the doorway as a sense of deja vu overtook the Markiplier egos' minds. "Forget it! I'm out."

As he opened the door and moved to walk past the doorframe, he collided into a solid body. "Oops! Sorry about that...," a different voice said before dying out.

Damien looked up, his eyes widening once he saw who he had walked into. Wade was staring at him with similarly wide eyes, Bob's mouth was agape, Felix was mouthing "Holy Shit" over and over again as he tilted his head this way and that, while Ken took a few seconds to pinch himself. Behind them, Tyler and Ethan were hiding their smiles of amusement, already knowing the truth.

It was then that Damien realized that the broken door allowed them to see clearly into the room. They took in the sight of all the egos and their unconscious friends (Jack was just starting to go through the change) as Damien shut his eyes, raising his hand to facepalm himself.

"Welcome!" Wilford exclaimed, throwing his arms open as he activated pink confetti poppers that littered the already-trashed floor. "You're just in time!"

"We've got cake!" Marvin added just as cheerfully, waving his hand and pulling one out of thin air.

Bob slowly tilted his head to look into the dark and messy room. "Yeah, you know what? I think we'll pass."

* * *

Damien had forced Mark's and Jack's friends to stay, wanting to ensure that they wouldn't go talking to other people. 

They had all relocated in Mark's untouched apartment, lying Jack on the bed who was moaning in agony as Mark continued to slumber peacefully. 

And _nobody_ mentioned how Anti was wrapped in the chair in the corner while Wilford held his gun against the glitch's forehead.

"So..." Wade slowly started as he looked between all the egos. "It's some nice weather, huh?"

It was raining outside.

"Cut the bullshit," Felix said, standing up. "How did you get here? Why are Jack and Mark like that? Did you do that to them? Why is Jack's room a fucking mess?"

"Felix," Ken hissed as he yanked on his friend's shirt. "Back the fuck off!"

Several of the egos started to talk at once, fighting with the volume of their voices to be heard. Ethan shrunk away from the noises, while Tyler patted him on the back comfortingly. Wade looked absolutely _terrified_ while Bob just seemed amused by the spectacle. Felix was growing frustrated with the time it was taking for his questions to get answered, while Ken was understandably tense.

Suddenly, a drawn-out groan from the bed caused everyone in the room to go silent as Mark slowly sat up, rubbing his forehead. 

"Jesus," he grumbled. "I'm never doing _that_ again." 

He looked up to look around the room, his face undergoing multiple changes in expression - from surprised and joyful from seeing that the egos had come to help after all to pale and shocked when he saw the curious faces of his friends. He whipped to look at Damien. "Oh, okay! What the hell happened to 'don't tell anybody,' huh? YOU WERE THE ONE WHO SAID THAT!"

"It was for the best at the time," Damien growled, sitting near Anti just in case the glitch woke up and tried to escape. "Besides, they snuck up on me and saw everything. What was I supposed to do, kill them?"

"Did somebody say kill?!" Wilford exclaimed, his eyes lighting up maniacally.

"NO!" everybody else in the room shouted.

Bob snorted until he started to laugh hysterically, and Mark couldn't help but join in. The man's laugh was VERY contagious. After calming himself, Mark positioned himself so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at the others.

"What happened?" he asked.

"What do you remember?" the Host interrogated in turn, and Mark frowned. "I stopped Anti and made him more compassionate and kind. He shouldn't be going around and killing people anymore. Then, I was trying to help Jack, but he turned me away... so I went to grab the phone to call 911. But the Actor..." Mark's eyes widened with realization. "Wait; the Actor killed me. How am I still alive?"

"Empaths are extremely good at healing emotions," the Host responded. "Sometimes, this healing ability can become physical if an Empath's power Transcends, which happens after you push your powers to the brink. You Transcended when just before you died when you stopped Anti, and so when the Actor killed you, you were able to heal yourself and become extremely powerful for a few moments, which is how you were able to stop the Actor."

Mark nodded hesitantly. "Um, sure. I don't really understand, so I'll just pretend that I do." He turned toward his friends, grinning sheepishly. "Uh, hey, guys. Sorry I didn't tell you about this earlier."

"Well, I'm sure you had your reasons," Wade said, looking between the egos again, "I mean, it's not as if you told everyone else except for me, right?"

"What do you mean, Wade?" Bob asked jokingly. "We all knew."

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Felix spoke, waving his hands to silence them. "When did this all happen, Mark? Tell us everything, from the beginning."

"Well," Mark sighed as he leaned back onto the bed while Jack was fighting halfway through the change, "The world that you live in is known as Earth-Prime."


	15. Epilogue

A lot had happened since the events of PAX.

Mark's secret was now out to the rest of his friends, but he was perfectly fine with that. Thankfully, they didn't seem to view him any different and they continued to interact with each other for video collabs and other projects.

Mark had moved out of his house in L.A. and moved to another house within the same city - the new house was big enough to comfortably house himself and the rest of the egos. They never did quite manage to figure out how to travel between alternate realities, and seeing as they would probably be staying indefinitely, Mark had made the decision to move.

It was continuing to prove a good idea.

He still kept in touch with Jack frequently, the two bonding over dealing with their egos and having to mother-hen them around the house. Jack was being taught by his egos to control his newfound powers, and Mark continued to encourage him through the process.

For the most part, Mark was surprised to see his life return to normal. He was able to upload a video every day and adopt a new schedule, making time to spend some time with the others. He had finally achieved that sense of normalcy that had been in his life before the egos had arrived on Earth-Prime.

Things were finally looking up.

Mark sat on the couch with King nearby, scrolling down his phone as he briefly scanned over the replies to his newest tweet announcing the release of his latest project: "A Heist with Markiplier." He was really happy with the production quality of the videos and how quickly people were finding all the endings. Mark, with the help of Ethan and Tyler, had privately recorded the Darkiplier and Wilford scenes away from the eyes of the others involved, because Mark had the best idea to have Damien and Wil play their own roles in the video.

They had proven to be naturals at acting.

Mark grinned as he read through the fans' reactions to his latest project when suddenly, the ensuing thunderstorm from outside sounded loudly nearby, cutting out the power.

"GODDAMN IT!"

"Shush, Wilford. The power will come back on."

"But I'm going to DIE!"

"It's just a video game!"

"THAT'S. WHAT. EVERYONE. SAYS!!!"

The electricity flickered back on, and Mark sighed with relief. Hopefully, Wilford wouldn't get too upset - there had been an explosion in the gaming room that had painted the walls glittery pink - Mark spent hours trying to rub it out before he just gave up.

He felt a tap on his shoulder from behind, and sighed reluctantly, placing his phone down on the table as he turned around. "Yes...?"

His eyes widened immediately as he recognized the person who had tapped him. "Oh, fuck me," Mark whispered, his face going white for the first time in the past two years.

"Hello!" Yancy exclaimed, bordered on either side by Illinois and Yandereiplier. "How are youse?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While Part 2 will be told from Jack's perspective, Part 3 will continue off of this point here! Thanks so much for staying through with me through this!!!


End file.
